



Qass _ 

Book_ 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 




f . 


J,.'. 


' ^ < 4 • ,1* tm I *1^ ^J( W U^ 


.' iTiT^n .U 

‘'ilr 

'i f: 








wmm 




■ '; ■ )'vV -4 

- .■'»’. 'ksi; 


t'J ' »ii. .' V i/| 


. ■ 'y '.■• t y f 

'V 




:* r ' 













BETHANY 

A STORY OF THE OLD SOUTH 











'■Si,: 


-> > 




U I * 


r 


. f^- 


*r 


• y 






i # 


0 . 


'i.E' 


’> •', 


V ^ — - . > 4 . 0 ^: 






-* * 






( 




■> 


r F 


V 


r 

t J - 

. ; . .'nj- 

^ • 

LlP '* *» 


^•. • 4 _ ' ' 

h 



■• .I 


’ 1 - 




:-v ; .B '.i ‘ 

. Vi ,•: 


i * \ ‘ ^ 


'V '^ 3 ^*‘-^ * 






. ,* 

i- 


«.TV 


•li 


fi» 


/ - 


v: 


W' c> 






» . • 


■* " 1^9 ■ ' * ^ ■■ 

' ■ ! 7 . i 

i** ‘V .- ' 

-ry*- Vxc-'-i '■ ,4:^ 

>6 ,cjv •<^=‘ 

p«'''/'’jfik- f:, - -i. 

" .-sl i 




■ -" - ■ y.; 4. : yi. 


• ' J \. 4 

. ‘j .-.' 


^ » -ij;). >' 

u* -f.V 


» ^ 


V 


• J / 




H® 

I % 


V 


•^ ; Ei 




j 


*• ' *1 




k . 


'■• ■. ■ V.'fAiiS 

. I'S' ' ’ 'v 

. ■ f V 

.v' •- >:SSfm--. .'* 

v^r'« 




” 'T* • 


. 0 . 


\ .*■ - 




i;>- 






».n- 




/ 




WHERE NELLIE LIVED AND DIED 




BETHANY 


A STORY OF THE OLD SOUTH 


BY 


THOMAS E. WATSON 


AUTHOR OF THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THOMAS JEFFERSON 
THE STORY OF FRANCE, AND NAPOLEON 


ILLUSTRATED 

) > 



NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1904 







iUBHAKY 4# 09N«i«ES6 
I Tvmi (Vhmm 

1 SEP f6 1904 



COPTBIGHT, 1904, BY 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


• 

• C 

C • 

4 * * • • 


Puhlished October, 190^ 


THE MAGNANIMOUS MEN OF THE NORTH 


WHO ARE WILLING TO LEARN 
THE TRUTH ABOUT 


THE SOUTH 







PREFACE 


In the effort to show the state of opinion and of 
feeling in the South immediately prior to the Civil 
War, it seemed to me that no method could be better 
than to let the historical characters speak for them- 
selves. Into the mouths of Toombs, Stephens, John- 
ston, and others I have put their real sentiments, 
though I have seldom used their own words. 

The Herschel V. Johnston speech, in the Milledge- 
ville convention, is the author’s creation. After all 
my inquiries, I could only discover fragments of 
that notable address. Judge Joel Branham remem- 
bered the first sentence and the manner of its deliv- 
ery. Hon. Fleming G. du Bignon was able to furnish 
the concluding sentence, and the first words of Gen- 
eral Jackson’s reply. These remnants have been 
faithfully used. 

The author is aware of the anachronism of men- 
tioning John Quincy Adams as he is mentioned in 
the text, but the license is more apparent than real. 
The heated discussions of the Forties are so closely 
interwoven vdth those of the Fifties that the com- 
promise of 1850 may be considered a mere lull in the 
[ vii ] 


PREFACE 


storm. Any treatment of the agitation which led to 
the Civil War must include John Quincy Adams, if it 
would claim to he thorough. 

Andrew Jackson upheld the State of Georgia in 
her defiance of national law, on the Cherokee Indian 
matter ; but he threatened South Carolina with coer- 
cion when our sister State took a similar position. 
How will the student reconcile this inconsistency in 
J ackson ? He will ignore human nature as a factor 
in history if he does not make allowance for the 
bitter feud which sprang up between Jackson and 
Calhoun after the Cherokee episode. 

In like manner, the conduct of John Quincy 
Adams must be judged. Southern Democracy — the 
slave-driver, if you will — ^had denied him a second 
term; and he was so resentfully angry about it that 
he imitated the bad example set by his father, in re^ 
fusing to witness the inauguration of his successor. 
The remainder of his life was consecrated to a crusade 
against slavery, the peculiar institution of the section 
which had driven him from office. 

Human nature is often a sorry old thing at best; 
and we are not always as virtuous in chastising the 
sins of a neighbor who has made us angry as we sup- 
pose ourselves to be. At any rate, it is considerably 
easier to administer heroic doses of medicine to an 
enemy than to a friend. 

In the letters of Alexander H. Stephens frequent 
reference is made to Mr. Adams, and the ex-President 

[ viii ] 


PREFACE 


is described as not only aggressive in his measures, 
but as offensive in manner. Stephens states that there 
was in the words and voice of Adams the yarring ’’ 
tones of one who wished to provoke and goad and defy 
— the voice and manner of a man who wanted to stir 
up a fight. 

Consequently, I considered it proper to allude to 
Mr. Adams’s share in arousing the South, and to 
allude to the political disappointment which probably 
had some infiuence upon his temper and conduct. 

The entire first part of Bethany is devoted to 
the conditions existing from 1856 to 1861. The 
author thought it best not to mix personal narrative 
with these tremendous political issues and move- 
ments. 

In the second part of the book, no effort has been 
made to manufacture an intricate plot and to work 
it out to a happy conclusion. My purpose being to 
make a true picture of the times and the people, I 
have let what actually happened appear in the book 
as it happened. It is only in conventional novels 
that lovers invariably reach sunshine and marriage. 
In real life, they are too often lost in the mists, 
and go their separate ways in the dark. 

The story itself is simply that of a young Con- 
federate Volunteer who met death in the service — 
having loved and lost a Southern girl of rare promise 
and beauty. The few tragic facts are so sacred to 
me that I would not juggle with them to entertain 
[ ix 1 


PREFACE 


the reader, even if I conld. It has contented me 
to tell the story as it occurred, and I am not with- 
out hope that there are hearts to which it will appeal. 

The book is frankly Southern in tone, but not 
oifensively so, I trust. If it contains a single hitter 
paragraph, it is there by inadvertence. 

The author once heard Henry Ward Beecher lec- 
ture in the city of Augusta. The South had never 
loved Beecher. He was one of the political preach- 
ers ” who had' so vigorously assailed us, and who had 
advised the Sharp’s Rifle Programme in Kansas; 
hut he had come before us to deliver his message, 
and the audience regarded him with decorous atten- 
tion. Almost his first utterance was one of distinct 
Korthern sentiment, not pleasant for us to hear. 
He saw this and felt it; but instead of compromise 
or qualification, he gave his head a shake of defi- 
ance, and there was the challenge of a fighter in 
his voice as he thundered, “ I am a Yankee of the 
Yankees ! ” 

Then we cheered him, for his pluck and his 
candor had won us as no apology would have done. 
It is upon the same generous instinct of human 
nature that I rely in frankly putting the Southern 
case, as though I were a Rebel of the Rebels.” 

Until we thoroughly understand one another — 
Korth and South — ^we shall never reach that respect 
for honest differences of opinion which is the neces- 
sary condition to a sincere reconciliation. If I did 
Ix] 


PREFACE 


not believe that this book tended to such an under- 
standing, I could never have let it go forth. 

When it shall have gradually dawned upon all 
Northern writers that the Southern States in 1860 
did no more than exercise a right which had been 
almost universally conceded from the founding of 
the Government — a right in which the seceders be- 
lieved, and which the provocation seemed to call for 
the use of — then, perhaps, we shall have historical 
literature which does not stigmatize us as rebels 
and our leaders as traitors. Not till that time 
comes will there be the complete reconciliation which 
should be the supreme desire of all patriots. 

Thomas E. Watsoh. 


Thomson, Ga., Aug. 23^ 1904. 



CONTENTS 


PAET FIEST 

BEFORE THE CLASH OF ARMS 


CHAPTER 

I. Our Old Home .... 

• 


• 

PAGE 

3 

II. 

Two OF MY Heroes . 

• 


• 

. 24 

HI. 

A Political Barbecue 

• 


• 

. 51 

IV. 

The Burst-up at Charleston . 

• 


• 

. 79 

V. 

Our Last Hope .... 

• 


• 

. 104 


PART SECOND 

A CHEROKEE ROSE 


I. 

At Nellie Roberts’s Home 

. 

. 127 

II. 

To THE Front for Our Flag — Manassas 

. 141 

III. 

Ralph and Nellie again 

• • 

. 163 

IV. 

Once more to the Front 

• • 

. 171 

V. 

A New Pastor . .... 



VI. 

Nellie and the Preacher 

• • 

. 221 

VII. 

Ralph and his Wound 

• • 

. 243 


[xiii] 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

VIII. Again in the Old Church 254 

IX. Tired of the War 279 

X. As War Looked to those at Home . . . 293 

XI. A Lieutenant 306 

XII. “Good-by Sweetheart” 316 

XIII. Back in Camp 330 

XIV. Chancellorsville 345 

XV. It is Finished 364 


[xlv] 


LIST OF ILLUSTKATIONS 


FACING 

PAGE 

Where Nellie lived and died . . . Frontispiece 

Mandy 14 

Alexander H. Stephens 26 

Robert Toombs 58 

Liberty Hall, the home of Alexander H. Stephens, in 

Georgia 94 

My Uncle Ralph ' . . . . 128 


[xv] 




(a 


'M 




1 T . 


\/>v 


m 








I 


I \ 






_.!.■» .L' 




f <:?' 


t 


M ] 










i\-. 






. 


■'’AW 


» f 




h l': 


7v ’iro* 








'f- 






/j 






J *< 






' - V* 


L- ' iJ 








• .A t . 




C . ) 


*t . ' 


'» f. 


,v v.i# 


t'« .» ^7J■ 


'j; '- c 


*j' 




» r.- 


SfPA 




v 




k V 




1 ■ . iV 




•1 


r’, 1 * 


•y, : .lA. 


» 'ILL 


< 4 


,*»r 


J ■'' 




i». i- 


iV"*; 








I fii 


’»tdi 


> k 


f.^i 


i»ri^ 






I 7 


( < • > • 


'/2i‘r 


1 1 


4 


* WV* 


‘iv' 




!Ai 


’ ■ 1 


:c;' 




4j 


'1'l 


A •! f«'4 








’4 , ' • I 


« ' 


( */ :»/ 




V" \ 


!'|.•’•.^V/, 


f 


L« •. 


m 


II..4 '* 




(I 




It* 






■yf'< 


I 7S» »J 


//J' 


»:> \ 


w- 






‘7'.' ^ 


’s I 




A ‘ 




W; 




s'f -> 


#;», 4 


ft] 


liJ 




AiliK “] 






M 


kV* 


' 3 f: 




*^.AV/ 








V'lt .,' 




m 




>* 


y.S 


ij • 


>!f 4 


>... 


IT 


t/. 




'^1 4,4 


i ■;' v 




riis 




“^vl i: 






» 4 


■•II 






••’*15,'; t 








,* -.•. t 


'<0 




■ '.'; K 


!N> 




(■ f 


» . » 




'O ,» 's 




. ’(A*;- f ": 




'‘trrk\) 


♦. .<■ 


• >_ i'4 


Cvi 


; 'aw 


»( •-‘’ 








^ ,.t 




'i- 






' ■ *x 


IVV . \i 




's; 


-iv® > ;;i.’.pAV;;f .,'; ' ' 


:';^1 


/ I- 


U'' 


7* 


'i/ •.• 


¥ 


Iv I 


'ff 


/', II;' 


•**1 


1<’i' 






If f A 


. I 


' ■'* • -,• ■ 

:'A 


■<.(i 


ri 


J 




W< 


Mi! ■' ■' !V v' l, V, V' -'r ■',••’« "A f 


A ., 'v 


A ^ 




•/* A. 


'.’ J wi 


4 ' ■•:;’■» 




f'/.w 


l;¥ 




i^/C 






fltf4 




'<^8 




' • 4. 


( :• 


IsK 




♦ r' .'V' 


i-j • 


’I*; t‘\' 


tv- 


7 '^ 


M’l 




M'fS 


' I L 


■y( 




.V 




iV-^ • * 


-• M 






'i/ 




A'‘ 




* A 


1 


’ V - : ■' •: 

i' , (. . •i’ /i '■ ' 




«..,.,'w,' 




.'O' 


*r; 




iH 




)>} j . Aj 


A V 


.•>.«,V4J 


WA 


jltl 


'/ 1. ^ 




yn 


icy 


m 


ii.i ■ »• I 




.M 


U .‘1 ■/. 




'A 






■\'fV 


\V' > 


';i 


♦Vi' oi/. r’ 


///. ' I 

’ r.r »• .'.'’i 










y* 


• ' i. 


!»■ 


i * ,M * 

y j ’ ' 


>>» .' V I ■ t 


!fi 


'4^ A 


4 I 




, 4 


PM 




i/f B’ 


PKit y 


r.' V, 




4lr/ y J /' 


,l.'l 1 










j®; 

■ ’la 




•( • 


.Oi 4 


7)-) 


il 


A‘^:. 




lii 


V'j' 


"vt 


f 1. 


If 


U, .A-' 


'TV^ 


• / * 


• < I -•! 








»n:v. 


'f;' 




• *1. 7 


-Vt*i'/> 


i;.> >:i 


• I 'L < 


*4 


vl 


i'lVA 






ri'V.i .7, 




I/. . j, 


o 


w 


I /. X T M’* 


I'W 




.'M*, 


* / P • 

f-)!! 


mV* 




CU. 


m 




Irf. 


i« 


’-•A' 




' Lt/f? 


Ay.'t 


» T*. .::a 


I I’j ' I 


4 






W.A 


i.O 


.v>- 


m 




•I rv 






[fl..i. irTf 


’•4 


% 


V\J 


A ‘ 


iL ^ 













^art f irjft 

BEFORE THE CLASH OF ARMS 


2 






I 


If 


I 



• t 






i 




4 


r 





% 


% 


CHAPTER I 


OUR OLD HOME 

Just as the facts were I will relate them to you: 
just as conditions were in the South, before the war, 
I will describe them to you: just how we felt and 
acted, during the cruel conflict between the States, 
I will try to make plain. 

It is a true tale that I am going to tell you — not 
Action. The people whom you will meet in the hook 
were real — as you are real. They did not live in 
fancy, and walk the ways of imagination: their lives 
were held in the stern grip of the actual, and their 
feet trod the ups and downs of practical experience. 

Yes: it is a true tale — true in the word; true in the 
deed; in the heartthrob of the old time; in the smiles 
which dimpled the cheek; in the tears which scalded 
the face. 

Let me begin at the beginning. 

We Hortons were a family of middle-class farmers. 
We had never been anything else. We never ex- 
pected to be anything else. Our condition was good 
enough for us. We had plenty of land. We had 
always had it. From the time that the original 
[ 3 ] 


BETHANY 


Horton came down into East Georgia, along witli 
a Quaker Colony, from North Carolina, which 
took possession of a tract of forty thousand acres, 
we had occupied the comfortable position of local 
landowners. The Quaker colony had come and 
founded the old town of Wrightsboro long before 
the Kevolutionary War. The Indians were still in 
the woods at that time. Whether my ancestral Qua- 
kers bought out the aborigines with a string of glass 
beads, or whether they imitated the methods by which 
the Friars, in the Philippines, secured lands that have 
recently cost Uncle Sam seven millions of dollars, I 
do not know. It answers my immediate purpose to 
say that they got it. 

The colony prospered. They cleared off the forest, 
put the levels into cultivation, fenced the fields, and 
raised cattle in the outer world. They built their 
dwellings close to the springs; and the graveyards gen- 
erally occupied the best building sites in the com- 
munity. They gave their own names to the creeks — 
Hart’s Creek, Upson’s Creek, Germany Creek, and so 
forth — and Maddox Creek preserves to this day the 
nanje of my original Georgia ancestor on my mother’s 
side. 

The Hortons had grown tobacco on their farms until 
Eli Whitney, Jesse Bull, Nathan Lyons, Daniel Pratt, 
and several others, invented the cotton-gin. Then 
they began to grow cotton. But they never failed to 
make it their object to produce on the farm the neces- 
[ 4 ] 


OUR OLD HOME 


sary supplies: tobacco or cotton being merely the sur- 
plus crop, tbe ^^money’’ crop. 

Yes: we bad prospered: and bad always been inde- 
pendent. We were not rich, you understand: just 
comfortable; with good farms, fat stock, and likely 
niggers. We owed no debts; we bad a few hundred 
of dollars in pocket, ready for an emergency — sucb as 
a request for a loan to some friend who might have 
got into a temporary ^^tight” by betting on the wrong 
horse, or by trying to make four queens beat a straight 
flush. 

In such cases, the neighbor was welcome to the 
money. Perhaps he might give his ^Tromisserry^’ 
note for it. Oftener, he did not. To take a ^Tromis- 
serry’’ note was considered very formal — if not exact- 
ing. Such a thing as requiring a mortgage from a 
friend, in one of these loans of accommodation, was 
unheard of. And to sue on one of the ^^Promisserry” 
notes, — actually, to hire a lawyer, flle papers in court, 
and have the Sheriff riding about serving Process, 
why, it would create more of a sensation throughout 
the community than any ordinary shooting scrape. 

Times have changed. We have more money now- 
adays, more everything, everywhere, than our fore- 
fathers had. East, West, North, South, we glory in 
our progress and our wealth. 

Sometimes I wonder whether those old fogies, our 
ancestors, did not get more out of life than we do. If 
they didnT — but enough of that. 

[ 5 ] 


BETHANY 


I was a little boy just beginning to run about, when 
I can first remember. My father had died of pneu- 
monia the March after the September in which I was 
bom. We lived, mother and I, with my grandfather, 
whose wife had been dead many years. Up to the 
time he died, my father had managed the farm as over- 
seer: and that is how we came to be living there. 

Mother kept house for grandfather, whose children 
had married and moved off, except the youngest — a 
dashing, manly, stripling named Ralph. He was 
rather more than sixteen years old; and he made a 
great pretense of cultivating his mind at the Wrights- 
boro Academy, six miles distant. 

So far as we came into touch with the outside world 
at all, we were indebted to Bethany — a little, one- 
horse hamlet, where we worshipped and got the mail. 
Bethany had a granite depot on the Georgia Railroad. 
Bethany had a Post-office. Bethany had a dry-goods 
store, and two doggeries. Any one who wished to 
run a horse rate, fight chickens, play poker, or throw 
‘^chuck-a-luck,’’ could do so at Bethany. In the grocery 
which stood on the flat, called the ^^slashes,” they could 
show you the spot where Dick Hattaway had cut the 
life out of Abe McDonald with a bowie-knife. There 
were places, also, where respectable citizens had shot 
at others equally respectable, but as there were several 
of these places, and they were lacking in individuality, 
nobody cared particularly to see them. 

There were two churches in Bethany — Baptist and 

[ 6 ] 


OUR OLD HOME 


Methodist. The^ cominiinity was strongly Baptist, 
though the Methodists were gaining ground. We 
Hortons were strongly Baptist — always had been, 
as far back as we could recollect. It was the 
family faith, you understand, and we came by it 
naturally, as we did by our blue eyes, tawny hair, 
freckled faces, and tall stature. What the Baptist 
creed was, precisely, none of us knew; but, whatever 
it was, it was ours, and we were for it — strong. We 
perhaps maintained a hazy notion that our forefathers 
had examined into the matter, at some time or other, 
and had become satisfied that the Baptist creed was 
just as good as any other (if not better) and had taken 
it into the Horton household, as an heirloom. 

At all events, it was too late now to be scandalizing 
ourselves by doubts and apostacy. The thing was set- 
tled — res adjudicata — and we were Baptists. Strong. 

My grandfather owned some thirteen hundred acres 
of land, and his slaves, counting the children, num- 
bered eighty-one. He was a man of few words, had 
no fondness for display, was well satisfied with his 
modest fortune; and in a quiet way took a pride in the 
fine appearance of his fields, fences, houses, mules, 
cows, hogs, and negroes. His face was rather stern, 
his eye somewhat severe, and his manner did not invite 
familiarity. Tall, square-framed, towering above 
other men, my grandfather filled me with awe. I 
used to wonder whether he was not a fair agricultural 
copy of General Washington. 

[ 7 ] 


BETHANY 


The mansion in which we lived was a very modest 
affair. It did not, in the least, resemble a Grecian 
Temple which had been sent into exile, and which was 
striving, unsuccessfully, to look at ease among com- 
cribs, cow-pens, horse-stables, pig-styes, chicken-houses, 
negro cabins, and worm-fenced cotton fields. It did net 
perch upon the top of the highest hill for miles around, 
and browbeat the whole community with its arrogant 
self-assertion. No: ours was just a plain house and 
none too large, not built out of bricks brought over 
from England, but of timbers torn from the heart of 
the long-leaf Georgia pine. 

The main body was made of logs hewed with the 
broad-axe, smoothed with the footadze,and joined pow- 
erfully at the ends — the four corners — by being inter- 
locked into deep notches; upon these solid, heavy logs 
was laid, inside and out, a covering of plank: strong 
sleepers bore up the plank floor, stout rafters held the 
shingle roof. There you had the main body of the 
original house, which a partition, running from side 
to side nearest the western end, cut into two equal 
parts, the smaller being a bedroom, the larger being 
the living room, where life on the homestead centered. 
Springing off from the main roof, other rafters 
reached downward to rest upon outer plates — forming 
a shed-roof; the half of this, being closed in with 
planks, made a shed room: the other half, left unen- 
closed, but floored, made a back piazza. Two stone 
chimneys, built outside, gave fireplaces to the living 
[ 8 ] 


OUR OLD HOME 


room and to the shed room. The house rested upon 
massive stone piers, two feet high, well-set in the 
ground ; and beneath the eaves, where rain-water was 
most likely to wash away the supporting earth, 
large square blocks of granite protected the founda- 
tions. 

Such was my grandfather’s house, built for comfort, 
built to resist the storms of a hundred years — ^which, 
indeed, it has done. 

A very unpretentious dwelling you will say, with 
but four rooms, counting the attic, to which one could 
climb by dark, corkscrew stairs: but it did not remain 
quite so small. After my grandfather had lived in 
it many years, and had built the fine, two-story barn 
over on the other side of the Big Road, it seemed 
high time that he should make some improvement in 
his dwelling. So it came to pass that two handsome 
rooms were built in the front of the west end of the 
old house, forming an ^^ell” thereto, and connected, by 
a piazza, to the front piazza of the original dwelling. 
These new rooms were filled with costly furniture, 
and were dedicated to the use of company ” — such 
visitors as might spend the night, or who were not of 
such familiar footing as to be received into the 
living room ” of the older house. 

My grandfather remained faithful to the older 
house, spending his days and nights, Sundays and 
Mondays, winters and summers, in the big sitting 
room, where he welcomed friends, talked business with 
[ 9 ] 


BETHANY 


his overseer, read his newspapers, and made entries in 
his ‘^account books.’^ To the left against the wall of 
this room stood the combination desk and bookcase 
which my mother afterward (in the evil days) used as 
smoke-house, butler^s pantry and larder — finding room 
enough, even then, for what books were left. On the 
right hand, and also against the wall, stood my grand- 
father’s bed. On the wooden shelf above the large 
fireplace ticked the clock. In the rack over the door 
was the gun. In the corner behind the front door 
stood his silver-headed walking cane. The doors fas- 
tened with wooden latches, lifted or lowered by a 
string which ran through a gimlet hole in the door, 
and hung hospitably on the outside. 

The modest dwelling nestled within a grove of mag- 
nificent oaks and hickories of the original forest, its 
site being sufficiently elevated for one to stand in the 
yard and see every field of the plantation. From the 
open space in front of the lot, we had a view of the 
last spur of the Blue Bidge. 

As I look back to it now, it seems to me that my 
grandfather’s farm must have belonged to another 
world, so complete have been the changes wrought by 
two generations. It seems to me that there was 
neither feverish haste upon it nor vagrant leisure, 
fretful exaction nor slip-shod looseness, miserly grip- 
ping nor spendthrift waste. Everything was regular, 
everything was systematic. A man of settled, thrifty 
habits, my grandfather had drilled his slaves to his 
[ 10 ] 


OUR OLD HOME 


orderly methods, and thus the old routine went on 
from year to year. 

The same slaves allotted to the same tasks, working 
the same fields with the same tools, raising the same 
crops in the same way, with never a material change 
from year to year, naturally gave to the plantation the 
character of a vast machine, well oiled, well managed, 
and doing its work without noise or friction — unhast- 
ing yet unresting, like some steady law of nature. 
And my grandfather was a farmer ! Pretty much 
everything that he needed was made on the place. 
There was always corn in the cribs, and some to spare ; 
wheat in the bin, and flour to sell ; oats for use and a 
surplus for market. Every year he slaughtered sixty- 
odd fattening ’’ hogs and supplied his plantation 
with meat and lard. Peas, potatoes, fodder, shucks 
— he always had more than enough. 

Old people, even .now, speak of the enormous num- 
bers of hills of potatoes that stood in triple rows be- 
tween his cow-lot and the Big Road. His herd of cat- 
tle not only supplied the whole place with milk and 
butter (and beef now and then), hut enriched the 
farm with manure — such immense quantities of com- 
post did he make from stalls, stables, and lots. Ho 
commercial fertilizers were bought in those days. A 
large fiock of sheep yielded plenty of wool to exchange 
for woolen cloth to clothe us in the best of winter 
suits — all wool, and strong as a mule. 

The gin-house stood in the midst of the orchard, 
[ 11 ] 


BETHANY 


back of tbe garden, and beside it was tbe press, witb 
its buge wooden screw, and tbe long wooden arms to 
whose ends tbe mules were bitched to turn the screw 
which furnished the pressure to pack the lint into 
square bales. 

The raw cotton, grown on the farm, was carded and 
spun and woven and made up on the farm. You 
could see every step in its wonderful journey from 
seed in the ground to cloth on the bodies of people 
who had produced it. 

That old Southern homestead was a little kingdom, 
a complete social and industrial organism, almost 
wholly sufficient unto itself, asking less of the outer 
world than it gave. How sound, sane, healthy it ap- 
pears, even now, when compared to certain phases of 
certain other systems! 

What laborer suffered hunger or cold ? What 
slave was neglected when sick, and turned out to 
perish in old age? Each cabin had its garden and 
its poultry; and the orchard and the melon-patch 
were shared by everyone on the place. The food was 
meat, meal, flour, molasses, potatoes, peas, turnips, 
and collard greens.’’ A peck of meal and three 
pounds of meat comprised the regular weekly ration. 
How many negroes fare better now? They wore 
home-made cotton clothes in summer, and all-wool 
jeans in winter, with wool hats and thick-soled 
leather shoes. How many of them dress more com- 
fortably now ? The children — ^were they ever put to 
[ 12 ] 


OUR OLD HOME 


work when they were mere infants, as is done with 
so many white children to-day in the great cities of 
our Christian land? 

Uncle Daniel was the ^Tester of the negro quarters. 
Too old to work in the fields, yet strong enough to 
get about well on his feet, his sole task on the planta- 
tion was to trundle a wheelbarrow up and down the 
Big Road and collect the manure day by day. From 
the rise of the sun to the going down thereof, you 
might have seen this aged slave making his regular 
tour from the Big Gate to Germany Creek ; from the 
creek hack to the forks of the road ; then out upon the 
spur-road to the boundary-line of the plantation; 
then back to the house, where the wheelbarrow, full 
by this time, was emptied into a square pen of rails. 
By the end of the year this huge pen would have 
been filled as high as a man could reach — all with 
unmixed manure. It was astonishing how much 
compost could be made from the collections daily 
made by this old man in his harrow. 

When Christmas came, and the hands all trooped 
to the Big House to get drams, new clothing, and 
special gifts, it was Uncle Ralph who would dangle 
a pair of shoes before the eyes of the white-headed 
slave, and call out, laughingly : How, Uncle Daniel, 
you jump up and crack your heels three times before 
you hit the ground, and you may have these shoes ! 

But the old darkey knew that he was a privileged 
character on that farm, and he had no notion of 
[ 13 ] 


BETHANY 


cutting up monkey-shines for the amusement of any- 
body; so he stood upon his dignity, and got the 
shoes just the same. He got his five silver dollars 
at Christmas time, just as the other male slaves did 
— the women getting two dollars each and the chil- 
dren being remembered in dimes and in candy and 
cake. And as to the two negro women, Dilsey and 
Harriet, who were too old to work, none had better 
houses, better clothing, better food, or humaner 
attention. 

If there is any human creature that I do under- 
stand it is the Southern negro. I was raised with 
him, and, partly, by him. My earliest and favorite 
playmate was Napoleon Bonaparte Scott, as Mack^^ 
scamp as ever stole eggs^ and theix.ljid "out of it. His 
siSteT,"' Mandy, nursed me. Our heads are growing 
gray — hers and mine — hut I am quite sure that we 
have a tenderness for each other yet. The slaves on 
the place taught me how to fish, hunt the ’possum, and 
set traps for game. A slave made for me my first 
swing and my first bow and arrow. '\\Tiat happier 
nights did my boyhood know than those when I 
shared the ash-cake on Uncle Turner’s hearth, and 
then listened as he played the fiddle ? Next to these, 
perhaps, were those nights in Uncle Isom’s cabin, 
when he told me marvelous yarns of ghosts and 
haunts.” There was no Uncle Kemus on our 
place. That good old ebony angel lived in the mind 
of Joel Chandler Harris, of Putnam County; and I 
[ 14 ] 



« • 



MANDY 












V 




^ * -■ 






^%s:i 




m 




'Vv _ 






./*1 




, 1.. 
^V.- 






F?* I •! 


o 




■ /■ » 






- 


r ■ V J 


sx^’ :.?■« 

r **._ , ■_ < 


H'4. 


I 


' ». 


»*•■'. '■ 










. ^ «a 


l»Vf" 


'M, 


i’^ 

t ., -^Mr : , .. 

^ • • . _ . 


- '•» 


^ ' M 






i^v; 


L-^ 


Vi'A 


ffUi^ 






■'E 


iJ' 


^1 


‘ 


D 




- « 

'%* • 


'n 


>' ^ '^hk:. . 

ir. • . .r,»’ 




Ritad ! 4 l 

[■ • 






'• •:. 


u^sj; ViW'-' ; ^P ; 




Et^^i 


[Sr? 


<., ' 




>♦ 


KTt, 

SV? 








’^i 


Sr 


i. 


■ ►•■ji-. '■■.■ v^yr-v'^ 

‘ir^ ^ ^ T^y %>4 


•f 


■y • f 


- 


f- 


‘ ♦ 


'if 


lit 








w 


Ft 


^•s.- 


t *' 


wi. » 4 _ 








* *- 










lA*.- 




ISK? 


%9^- 


.-*• ^ 


s. 


W'f»' > 

;- i 




>- 


/•> 




‘ k-»> 


rfl' ♦ 


:i 


Ji ^ 


> 4' 




-•V • • 

kV'-l -. 

&> '.• 




^ * 




*•■» 






' 4 


'. h 

Mj; 




r.'c*'' 


L-»» 








> ♦ 


L <• 






.*• U 4^ 




t 


Hr 


* f*- 


• f 




J' . ■ ,-- 1 -^ 


'j ^.1 


•T'> 






rtp’ 






-r 


c: 


■t:> 






-»*l 


. ^ 


1 





OUR OLD HOME 


rarely heard anything about Brer Rabbit and Brer 
Fox. But I beard things about graveyard haunts ” 
that often made me run at the top of my speed when 
the time came to go from the cabin back to the Big 
House. 

At such times the door of the cabin bad to stand 
open, so that the blaze from the pine-knots could cut 
a lane of light through the outer darkness: and old 
Isom himself had to stand upon the threshold to 
make certain that no hoogers ” darted in and 
caught me, as I scooted up the path. 

Among our negroes there were, so far as I can 
recall, none who were devils and none who were 
seraphs. They were just pkinjiiggers, wonderfully 
and fearfully made, out of materials partly good 
and partly had. 

Mandy, indeed, might he considered something of 
a curiosity, for the reason that she was virtuous. It 
was said among white men, as well as black, that no 
temptation could reach her. Whether she was con- 
stitutionally cold, or whether she acted from prin- 
ciple, I do not know: I simply record the fact that 
she was regarded and respected on the plantation 
as a strictly virtuous girl. 

My grandfather’s house and surroundings were 
typical of those of middle-class landowners of the 
old order. What you found in his home you would 
find in every home of that class. His ways were 
those of the average man of his state. He was 
[ 15 ] 


BETHANY 


orthodox in politics, took the creed jnst as he found 
it ; believed what the party leader proclaimed ; made 
no independent research in any direction; and the 
vitality which he thus saved he expended in raising 
potatoes, corn, and cotton. He was a Toombs 
man ’’ ; therefore, I , reckon that when Toombs quit 
the Whig party and joined the Democrats, whom he 
had so often vociferously damned, my grandfather 
changed cars also. 

In religion he was a non-combatant, which is say- 
ing a good deal, for in those days most men were 
either rampant Methodists or militant Baptists — 
real religion being just about as abundant then as 
it is now in these days when we exchange pulpits.” 
He would sit on his front piazza of a Sunday 
afternoon while neighbor Langford (Methodist) 
would wrangle with neighbor Cason (Baptist) upon 
tremendous propositions in theology which neither 
of them understood (and nobody else, as far as that 
matters), and he would never chip in a word — just 
sit and look out over the fields as who should say: 

The problem is old, and deep, and sorrowful ; how 
can such rustics as these solve riddles which the 
wise men, for ages, have wrestled with in vain ? It 
is a subject upon which nobody knows anything; 
why quarrel over its mysteries ? ” 

He was no Puritan, my grandfather — only a 
grave, decorous senior who had been wild ” when 
he was young, and whose stern features would no- 
[ 16 ] 


OUR OLD HOME 


ticeably relax when some reference was made to his 
youthful escapades. He took his three drams a day 
with the patience of a martyr ; and, when very angry, 
would s wear with an elo quenc e that was impressive. 

Hy^e way, I now recall that there was a bright 
mulatto boy on the place, named Sam, whose moth- 
er’s color was a smooth, universal black, and whose 
son Sam bore a distinct likeness to my Uncle Ralph. 
I mention this as a singular coincidence, just as I 
might tell you of the two mulatto fiddlers at Char- 
lottesville, Va., who bore such an impertinent and 
irrelevant resemblance to the Sage of Monticello. 

My grandfather was not a literary man, and 
rarely dipped deeper into a book than was necessary 
to master the pictures; but yet our bookcase held 
quite a number of volumes. Of course there was a 
large family Bible. There was also a fat copy of 
Watts’s Hymns, and the Pilgrim’s Progress, and a 
stray volume of Wesley’s Sermons. Georgia Scenes 
was there, and Simon Suggs ; but not Sut Lovingood. 
We had a handsome Shakespeare, illustrated with 
steel engravings; a Don Quixote, and a Gil Bias. 
There were several books of history — State, national, 
and universal ; also Rev. J ohn S. C. Abbott’s Life of 
ISTapoleon Bonaparte, profusely illustrated. The 
Ettrick Shepherd (James Hogg) had strayed, by 
some mysterious chance, into my grandfather’s book- 
case, where its wrinkled green covers touched Parson 
Brownlow’s Great Iron Wheel Examined — a religio- 
3 [ 17 ] 


BETHANY 


controversial work in which there was a good deal 
more controversy than religion. Another one of our 
literary luxuries was Theodosia, Heroine of the 
Faith; and on the shelf she leaned affectionately 
against Tom Jones — a scandalous attitude, as I now 
realize. The Arabian Nights Entertainments we 
had; likewise Comstock’s Philosophy; a Familiar 
Science ; a Georgia Gazetteer ; and a liberal supply of 
Patent Office Keports. I do not think we had a copy 
of Tupper’s Proverbial Philosophy. 

As to pictures, I can recall a brilliant Battle of 
Buena Vista; and a chromo representing Washing- 
ton, on a white horse, riding into Trenton, his way 
being strewn with flowers by a larger number of 
uniformly handsome, buxom girls than I can re- 
member to have ever seen together at one time. 
There was another picture which took my eye com- 
pletely. It represented a wintry road and a well- 
wrapped traveler, lawfully and peacefully journey- 
ing along this road in a lonely place, when suddenly 
there confronts him another traveler who, without 
the fear of God in his heart, holds out his hat in 
one hand and suggestively brandishes a club with 
the other. The look of eager confidence and per- 
suasive intimidation on the face of the lawless man 
with the club, and the expression of surprise, dis- 
appointment and pain worn by the well-wrapped 
traveler who has no club, and who realizes that he 
must impair his gold-reserve, were so vividly pictured 
[ 18 ] 


OUR OLD HOME 


that I never tired of studying this Irish scene — for 
the get up ^ of the figures was Irish. 

I close my eyes, and the old Homestead is before 
me again, in rounded outline, in smallest detail — 
the sturdy, comfortable cottage, the village of out- 
houses, the smoke curling from the negro cabins 
which stretch away beneath the giant trees. 

I see Uncle Ralph saddle his pony and go gallop- 
ing off to school. I see my mother busy about the 
house with the thousand and one cares of house- 
keeper. My grandfather takes his silver-headed 
cane and walks around and about the lots, the fields, 
the orchards, the garden, the woods — walks slowly, 
with the calm, dignified air of a master who ex- 
pects to find everything going on as it should; the 
settled, confident air of one who is used to being 
obeyed, and who has no anxieties; a stately, self- 
contained, self-reliant man. To all the slaves he is 
Old Marse.” To them he is Authority; and they 
hold him in boundless respect. And while my 
grandfather^s tall form is seen passing to and fro 
in his measured way, Boney Scott and I play on the 
white gravel beneath the lordly trees. Boney Scott 
is the little nigger boy who is set apart to mind the 
calves while Aunt Mymie milks the cows, the bal- 
ance of his time being spent in play with me. In 
the back piazza sits Mandy churning: the cook, 
Cassie, is in the garden gathering things for the 
dinner-table; black children squall and romp about 
[ 19 ] 


BETHANY 


the quarters. The yellow cur yard-dog, Buck, dozes 
in the sun, and snaps occasionally at intrusive 
flies. I hear from the fields the Gee, here ! ” 
of one plow-hand, the Haw, there ! ” of another ; 
sometimes I catch the voice of a foreman scolding 
another negro. I hear the toll, tolang, toll, tolang,’’ 
of the bell-cow down in the meadow by the creek, 
the bell sounding most fitfully as the cow grazes 
along the banks. Sometimes the bell is not heard 
for many minutes; then there will be one regular 
toll after another as she walks to a new place, then 
she will angrily shake her head to get rid of the 
cruel, blood-drawing flies, and the bell will clamor 
furiously. I hear the bleat of lambs and ewes; the 
bellow of the bull; the contented grunt of roving 
hogs. I hear the scream of the hawk, the cluck of 
hens, and the rooster’s blatant crow, repeated with 
unnecessary emphasis and perseverance. The doves 
nest in the pine thicket back of the orchard, and I 
hear the mournful coo of the mother-bird. The 
turkey-buzzard wheels in ample curves above the 
trees, and his broad shadow cuts under my naked 
feet. 

The jay-birds quarrel and chatter and yodel in 
the big trees — nesting in the thick clumps of twigs 
which sprout out from the bosses beneath the giant 
limbs. The sap-sucker and the pecker-wood and the 
yellow-hammer studiously explore for worms and 
make the dead limbs ring with resounding tattoo — 
[ 20 ] 


OUR OLD HOME 


the instrumental music of the woods. The tom-tit 
flies here and there, the humming-bird darts in and 
out, the bannered butterflies hover over the flowers 
of the butterfly-weed which blossoms in the corners 
of the yard-fence ; and over the whole scene stretches 
the mystic wand of the queen of the woodland song 
— nature’s unapproachable prima donna, the Mock- 
ing Bird ! 

In the lazy, sunny atmosphere, the pigeons go 
circling round and round, up and down, now in 
frightened speed, now in confident leisure; one mo- 
ment you see them sitting in prim dress-parade on 
the cone of the new bam, shoulder to shoulder, from 
one end of it to the other; look again, and there 
they are, deployed along the wide, sloping roof, their 
wings opened out, each pigeon reclining on its side 
as it takes its bath in the sun. 

Do you hear the moan of the spinning-wheel? 
Old Aunt Mymie is spinning cotton-thread. Aunt 
Mymie is Boney’s mammy; she is getting old, and 
she is shriveled, black, austere; but she is full of 
energy, not too amiable, has a temper of her own, 
enjoys the entire confidence of the white folks, who 
defer to her a good deal in matters touching her 
own lines of work. How distinctly I see that 
gaunt, vigorous, straight figure standing beside the 
clumsy frame. From the basket on the floor she 
takes the filmy cotton bat ” ; one end she twists 
and fixes to the spool, then while one hand holds the 
[21 ] 


BETHANY 


cotton the other seizes the wheel — there is a pre- 
liminary whirl or two as she gathers her strength, 
and then with a concentrated effort she throws her 
whole power on it, and takes her hand away. How 
the wheel does fly! I can no longer see the spokes; 
the rim seems stationary. The wheel flrst hums, 
then moans as it reaches its highest speed, then sinks 
to a hum again, and slows down — I can see the spokes 
again; and then it stops. As it has been whirling, 
humming and moaning. Aunt Mymie has been ma- 
nipulating the cotton, drawing back her hand to 
attenuate the thread, smaller and smaller — drawing 
back, drawing back until the thread is the proper 
size, then easing the slack, and letting her hand 
approach nearer the spool as it winds up the thread. 
Yes, I can hear the moan of the spinning-wheel, and 
the knock and slam, the click and jerk of the old 
wooden loom where Aunt Jane weaves cloth from 
the thread Aunt Mymie spins. 

But noon comes and some one at the Big House 
calls to Boney; he runs pit-a-pat to the back-door; 
and here he returns with : Mammy ! time ter blow 
de horn ! ’’ 

The wheel stops ; Aunt Mymie goes to the 
kitchen, takes down the dinner-horn, pours a dipper 
of water through it, shakes it well, mounts a huge 
two-foot block, puts the horn to her lips, and blows, 
blows, blows, till the uttermost part of the planta- 
tion has heard the blast, till the mules have all 
[22 ] 


OUR OLD HOME 


whinkered, till the hands have all welcomed it with 
a cheery whoop; and its cadences still rise and fall, 
rise and fall, as the trace-chains clink on the hames, 
and the gear slips from the tired mule to the plow- 
stock erect in the furrow. And so the hands come 
from the field,’’ to eat, and to rest for one hour and 
a half ; and then the afternoon will repeat the morn- 
ing’s lesson. 

It all rises before me, complete as a picture, vivid 
as a flash of lightning — a plain, unpretentious, com- 
fortable, happy Southern home of the old regime — 
and like a castle among the clouds it is gone forever, 
even while I gaze ; just as the republic of our fathers, 
of which that old home was a typical part, is gone, 
forever gone. 


[23 ] 


CHAPTEK II 


TWO OF MY HEROES 

One evening, in the year 1858, a carriage drove 
up to our front gate, and we heard the customary 

Hello ! ” Uncle Kalph went out to see who was 
there. He soon returned, bringing with him two 
travelers who had stopped with us before. One of 
these was the finest looking man I ever saw. Built 
on a grand scale, he was tall and broad and deep- 
chested. He stepped with a decided lift of the foot, 
was erect as an Indian, and bore his head with the 
pride of a king. His face was clean-shaven, there 
being no beard save a tuft below the chin. The whole 
countenance stood out unconcealed, clean-cut, strong- 
ly marked, massive, leonine. He was richly though 
plainly dressed, wearing no jewelry save a gold 
watch and chain ; his hat was a soft felt slouch,” 
and he carried a gold-headed cane. 

The other was almost a complete contrast. Bather 
above than below the medium height, he was so 
very thin, slender, frail-looking, that he was often 
mistaken for a sickly boy. His complexion was 
pale-yellow, absolutely bloodless; the lips, even, had 
[ 34 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 

no color; there were great furrows on his face, 
and there was a perfect net-work of smaller 
wrinkles which overspread the countenance. When 
you looked at him you felt sorry for him, for the 
thought at once struck you that he was one who had 
suffered intense pain, mental and physical. His 
voice was thin, sharp, reedy — the tone of a shrill, 
shrewish woman. In fact, you caught yourself 
thinking : If this frail, wrinkled, keen-voiced man 
were dressed as a woman, he would pass unchallenged 
anywhere as a faded, sallow spinster.” It was only 
when you looked at his glorious brown eyes, noted 
the square jaw, thick neck, and noble head, that you 
reassured yourself, and said : This is a man, and a 
very wonderful man,” for the beardless, colorless 
visitor was Alexander H. Stephens. His companion 
was Robert Toombs. 

The Superior Court of an adjoining county was 
in session, and these great lawyers, on their way 
to it, were going to spend the night with my grand- 
father. Cordially greeted, as guests whom we were 
delighted to honor, they were shown to the “ Com- 
pany Room,” and in due time they were ready for 
the supper-table and its substantial meal of home- 
made food. 

We already had one guest when Stephens and 
Toombs drove up. This was Colonel Hat Crawley, 
an old friend of the family, a quiet, independent 
kind of man, whom we greatly liked. 

[35 ] 


BETHANY 


In those days the country was thinly settled, and 
taverns where decent accommodations could be had 
were few. Therefore all the well-to-do planters were 
made a convenience of by such travelers as passed 
to and fro along the Big Koad. Lawyers on their 
way to court, preachers on the circuit, itinerant 
peddlers with packs, dentists and doctors and poli- 
ticians — all claimed hospitality by reason of the 
unwritten law, and were never refused. Such a 
thing as offering to pay for the entertainment was 
not thought of — the children might be given small 
silver coins, a thrip,’’ or such a matter, and the 
negro boy who took the traveler’s horse and attended 
to it might be gladdened with a dime, but, as a rule, 
that was all. 

After supper was over, and we had drawn chairs 
around the hearth, where a pine-knot fire blazed 
cheerily — for it was March, and the atmosphere was 
sharp — pipes were lit, and conversation took a wider 
range. 

Toombs led the talk, and in those days talk 
among the men generally meant politics. The way 
in which he sat in his chair, the natural majesty of 
his deportment, his gesture, his eye, his great head 
crowned with crow-black hair — came up to my 
ideal of natural royalty. And to hear him talk! 
His voice was an orchestra, and if ever a man had 
a speaking face ” it was Toombs. The play of 
expression on his countenance was like the dance of 
[ 36 ] 



ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS. 



















Oh., fm 










■ 

*’■ 

'^•:^ ’-X.--* 


V* ' ‘ 


_T.t 




^JU’ '^'^i. 


j 


j5 


*. d 








jr \ 


: I *. 


'tx. 


V^ ■•- r'fj 








-»<i, 


VV 








■A''* 4*^- 


y.4. -t 






«» % A . 














”4 - 




\ 




If 






SIT? 


^c> 






> 


/i. 


\3 ■ ' ' ''*■’ 


■a5>^ 


V#/» L . 

v4 


(itf 




-r 


- 


i 




I • 






r.> 




I C 




^ . -J»ii 




t- ~» :» 


N.'> 


• '^> 










s?T:r' 


** *. 


*•*• « 




'P‘i. ■ ' 






K 


^ - 


^4 ir 




VjC 


rT , 








y A' 






. c 


V 


VVi 


.. ■'; 


■ tkf V' 


%- 


■;t*. 




fT 


•A*’ '<>». 




« f 


- </ 


















‘ ^ ■ 


,»■? - 't - ■ ■ ' ■" ■ 


■fe.- 


»j ' 'j.'. -, ■. 


. K 1* 

i'r^:-- r>X 




■^. • j j*^ 


■a 


k» 


• 4* 


/7jp4 ' ' ' . ii % A*; - '‘- '' < 

'*4*'- 


•■V 


4* 


'<? 


VV. - ^ ‘> 


ri-. 




t 




• ••■>wr' * 4'v «»“” 






11:^* 


4^ 


K. 


i 

' iV 


* ;,iV ^ 

*.* o 


\l 


'^4 -'-Jp'r 




■w^ 




- ,' ■ •*■ .. .• 






•i - >‘ 




*• i. 


•♦ *f. 


Kr#^* 


V43»*' 


<• N 




»>► » 


ii’ 




^'‘■-. i- 


/-i 






iP: 




W-i 


8/^ A . ifL 




T»'A' 


rt-T^l 




Vi.?r4: 


I.f t-i 

- ' ' j y - ■ ■ " 




iwl 




■>4 


Ul 






•y- -*: 




> 


.1?- _ 


•i. I.r-'l 


V. 


a 


>v/ 




LTf. 




!»r.^ /-i:> 


LfM 


M* 


O 


t- * 






il!^' 


r I 


• « 4 


-- r r -t 




^.1 




ij(*i 




j.ii 




TWO OF MY HEROES 


shadows upon a lake in the woods on a sunny, windy 
day. How his eyes would flash, how his great white 
teeth would shine, how the color would come and 
go on his swarthy face! And fiercely he could 
harangue for ten minutes, till you thought he wanted 
to kill somebody and drink his blood ; and then some 
witty word shot from his lips, his eyes sparkled with 
fun, his cheeks dimpled and his white teeth would 
shine through as sweet a smile as I ever saw. Truly 
a big man was Toombs. His ideas, views, ambitions, 
passions, methods, excellences, and faults were big; 
his loves and his hates, his battles, his triumphs, his 
defeats were big; his roar of wrath, his shout of 
onset, his bursts of profanity, his explosions of 
laughter — in all things he was the big Bob Toombs, 
an idol of the South because that he carried in his 
heart the very passions, prejudices, hopes, aspira- 
tions, distinctive traits, habits, strength and weak- 
ness of the South ; and every Southern man felt that 
here was a man who loved the South with all his 
mind and soul and heart, hating intensely every- 
thing and everybody who hated her. 

Ah, yes! And the South was proud of Toombs 
because he was valiant, strong, able to meet the 
enemy in the gate; able to give blow for blow to 
every champion of the ISTorth. In those days when I 
was a boy Georgia had no war-cry more universal, 
more enthusiastic than Hurrah for Toombs ! ’’ 

I learned, at a later day, that William L. Yancey, 
[37 ] 


BETHANY 


of Alabama, was even more widely known as a 
champion of extreme Southern views than Toombs, 
and that many considered him yet a greater orator 
and agitator than Toombs; but of this we were 
ignorant at that time. We country people of Geor- 
gia thought that Toombs and Stephens were the 
greatest men on earth. Indeed, I have never yet 
seen a man who impressed me so powerfully as 
Toombs ; and I have seen many whom the world con- 
siders great. 

They told me that Stephens was not afraid of 
Toombs, or anybody else, in the court-room, or on the 
hustings, and that he was generally considered the 
safest political leader our State possessed. But to a 
child like me Mr. Stephens — pale, weak, thin-voiced 
— was no hero beside the bold, dashing, brilliant, 
turbulent Toombs. I loved Stephens, but I gloried 
in Bob Toombs ! 

Stephens and Toombs explained to us the meaning 
of certain things which had occurred in Congress. 
There had been violent scenes on the floor; intem- 
perate speeches had been made on both sides. In 
these debates, and in every political movement at 
the National Capital, Toombs had been conspicu- 
ous; had, in fact, towered above all other Southern 
leaders. 

In the organization of the Thirty-flrst Congress 
the Northern extremists had endeavored to gain an 
advantage by revolutionary methods, and when 
[ 28 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 

Toombs rose to protest they had tried to howl him 
down. 

Then, when they were trying to force through the 
Wilmot Proviso, which shut the common territories 
to the Southern man and his property, Toombs 
had made his celebrated threat of striking for in- 
dependence ” if the North should pass such a law — 
a law which denied political equality to the South. 
Disunion talk was rife, and the House was about to 
divide against itself, when Clay, Webster, and Cal- 
houn united forces to effect the Compromise of 1850. 
It was in advocacy of this Compromise that Mr. 
Webster made the Seventh of March Speech ” 
which saved the Union and killed Webster in the 
North. After the compromise was agreed on, 
Toombs had lived up to it loyally, and had put forth 
all his power to crush the disunion movements in 
Georgia. 

Three years later, however, the whole question 
was opened again on the Kansas-Nebraska bills, and 
the sectional fires raged all the more hotly because 
of their temporary suppression. The fact that the 
Supreme Court declared the old Missouri Com- 
promise to have been unconstitutional, thus sustain- 
ing the South’s equal rights in the common territory, 
only tended to inflame the Northern leaders. There- 
fore, when Stephens and Toombs came to our house 
in 1858, they were hot from the battlefield. They 
were not only full of the subject, but animated by 
[39] 


t 


BETHANY 

all the passions which congressional warfare had 
excited. 

They spoke of the anti-slavery societies, of Garri- 
son and Phillips and Henry Ward Beecher. They 
alluded resentfully to J ohn Quincy Adams, and they 
agreed in tracing his vindictive hatred of the South 
to the fact that Andrew Jackson and the Southern 
Democrats had defeated him for the second term 
when he was President. He had caused himself to 
be sent to Congress, where he had led the fight 
against us. But while Toombs was severe on Adams 
he was particularly bitter when he referred to 
Charles Sumner. 

Why,^’ exclaimed Toombs, Sumner denounces 
the South and its slave-owners as rabidly as though 
we had invented slavery. He appears to have con- 
vinced himself that servitude was unknown to the 
world until Southern men' commenced to buy 
niggers.” 

“ Of course Sumner knows better than that, for 
he is a highly educated, widely read man,” said Mr. 
Stephens. He is undoubtedly honest in his war- 
fare against slavery. Personally, he is a pure man, 
though cold — ^like Edward Everett — intensely vain, 
and not popular with his own colleagues. But he is 
a dangerous man, because he knows nothing of prac- 
tical affairs. He is a student, a theorist, a man of 
the closet, knowing all about books and nothing 
about men. In dealing with the slavery question 
[ 30 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 


the greatest practical wisdom is indispensable, and 
Sumner has not got it.’’ 

What right has such a man to denounce us in- 
discriminately ? ” asked Toombs. What does he 
know about slavery in the South? A gad-about 
English spinster and blue-stocking, like Harriet 
Martineau, can come down here, take a look at 
slavery out of the window of a stage-coach, return 
Horth to write things against us, things she believed 
before she came, and the Wendell Phillips-Charles 
Sumner crowd will swallow every word she says; 
whereas, if Daniel Webster comes South to try a 
law-case in Charleston, and makes a personal inves- 
tigation into the condition of our slaves, his verdict 
is spumed by the Horth simply because it is in our 
favor.” 

What incident do you refer to. Colonel 
Toombs ? ” asked my grandfather. 

You remember a short while ago when Webster 
was given a public reception in Augusta, and made 
a speech ? Yes ? Well, he had just come from 
Charleston, where he had legal business. While 
there he rode around the country, inspecting the 
plantations and making inquiries of the negroes. 
After he had gone through the quarters of Wade 
Hampton’s place and had talked with the slaves, he 
remarked that ‘ he did not see how the abolition of 
slavery could improve the condition of the slaves’ ” 

A broad, brave man was Webster,” remarked 
[ 31 ] 


BETHANY 


Mr. Stephens. He was one of the few public men 
who would endanger his political life by telling his 
home people that they were wrong.” 

Yet he did us enormous harm,” said Toombs. 
“ I was a Webster man, but in the Dartmouth 
College case he got the Supreme Court to make a 
decision which is not good law, and which will one 
day erect in the country a despotism of the corpora- 
tions. In the debate with Hayne he sustained a 
position equally fatal to the liberties of the people. 
If the Federal Government is to be the supreme 
judge of its own powers, if the State has no right 
to protect itself from Federal usurpation, the Con- 
stitution is a mere cobweb over which the majority 
will advance to centralism, class-rule, and wholesale 
robbery under forms of law.” 

Here Colonel Nat Crawley shifted the subject by 
asking : 

Colonel Toombs, don’t you think Stephen A. 
Douglas made a mistake in repealing the Missouri 
Compromise ? ” 

Why so, Nat? ” inquired Toombs sharply. 

Well, because the slavery question had all been 
compromised, and things were quieting down. The 
repeal of the Missouri Compromise set the woods on 
fire again.” 

The fire was never put out, sir. That is a mis- 
take. How could the fire be put out when there 
were more than a hundred thousand fanatics banded 
[S2] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 


together in abolition societies, oath-bound to keep 
the woods burning ? ” 

But,” said Crawley, they could do nothing 
more than speak and write, and sing songs and hold 
conventions. They were not in power, and they 
were limited to the methods of peaceful, lawful agi- 
tation.” 

Toombs laughed boisterously and somewhat fierce- 
ly, throwing up his head and impulsively tossing 
his hair with his hand. 

Was it peaceful and law-abiding when that mob 
in Boston broke into the court-room, defied the court, 
forcibly took possession of the prisoner — a runaway 
nigger — and turned him loose in the streets ? Was 
it a law-abiding mob that shot down, like a dog, that 
Maryland man, Gorsuch, in the streets of Lancaster, 
Pa., and gave an ovation to his assassins when a 
partisan jury, in a mock trial, found the murderers 
‘ not guilty ’ ? Does it sound like peace and the 
reign of law when a man like Stephen A. Douglas 
declares in the Senate that the Abolitionists have 
armed the free negroes of the North to oppose the 
officers of the law as they attempt to enforce the 
Fugitive Slave Act? ” 

I had not heard of those things,” said Crawley, 
very considerably set back. 

That’s not all,” said Toombs, warming up as he 
went along. There is a villainous book, written 
by a contemptible whelp named Hinton Helper, in 
4 [ 33 ] 


BETHANY 


which open war is declared upon all slave-owners, 
and it is proposed that they shall be all treated as 
outlaws, criminals, ruffians; and slaves are called 
upon to resort to any violence in their efforts to free 
themselves. That book has been formally endorsed 
by John Sherman, who was the abolition candidate 
for Speaker of the House! Why, the whole country 
is flooded with incendiary literature sent out by the 
Abolitionists.” 

Yes, there are some disheartening signs of the 
times that forebode disaster,” said Mr. Stephens. 

I was in the House, when Mr. J ohn Quincy 
Adams, with whom I was personally quite friendly, 
was haranguing in his frantic way for abolition, 
and James Dollet remarked to him that his policy 
would cost the lives of a million men. ^ Let it 
be flve hundred million I ’ cried the venerable ex- 
President, in a frenzy. The signs of the times are 
alarming — fearfully so. Toombs is right as to the 
Missouri Compromise. It had not settled the ques- 
tion of slavery.” 

Here Toombs broke in: ‘‘Nobody had repealed 
the Missouri Compromise in 1850, and yet the 
Union was put in jeopardy by the agitation of this 
same slavery question. Hoes that look as though the 
old Compromise of 1820 had settled everything? ” 

Before Colonel Crawley had shaped an answer 
Mr. Stephens continued: 

“ I have had occasion to study the records very 
[ 34 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 


carefully with reference to the Missouri Compro- 
mise, and I found that the North had violated it 
time and again. It was a dead letter, excepting on 
those occasions when it could be used against the 
South.” 

My mother left the room to look after the prepa- 
ration of the guest chambers. After she had gone 
I could notice a marked change in Toombs’s manner. 
He became more violent. 

The present Union,” exclaimed Toombs, “ could 
only be adopted by a compromise between North 
and South on this very question. Whenever com- 
promise ceases to be possible the Union will go to 
smash ! ” 

Colonel Crawley now spoke up, saying to Toombs: 

But suppose this excitement reaches such a pitch 
that there can be no peace between the sections of 
our country as long as slavery exists, would it not 
be best to arrange some terms of compromise, say, 
gradual emancipation with pay for the slaves ? That 
seems to be the direction things are taking in other 
parts of the world.” 

No, sir ! ” answered Toombs, with raised voice 
and growing animation. No, sir ! If we sur- 
render one principle we will be called upon to sur- 
render others. The great danger to the country is 
centralism. Had I been a member of the Virginia 
Convention I would have voted with Patrick Henry 
against the Constitution. The dangers that he then 
[ 35 ] 


BETHANY 


foretold have come upon us. John Kandolph saw 
it, too, and wanted the fight against centralism 
made then, when the South was abler to hold its 
own than it will ever be again. On that memorable 
day when Randolph went up to Clay in the halls 
of Congress and proposed to follow his lead if he. 
Clay, would boldly take a stand for Disunion — ^had 
I been there I should have backed Randolph and 
not Clay. The mad Virginian was right.” 

But, Mr. Toombs, have not our Southern leaders 
always been opposed to slavery? Did not Mr. Jef- 
ferson declare that nothing was more certain than 
that these black people would be freed ? ” 

Certainly he did,” retorted Toombs ; but he 
never said that the Federal Government must usurp 
the power to free them. My ripe wheat is certain 
to be cut, but I don’t want some other man to dic- 
tate to me when and how I shall cut it. This ques- 
tion is a domestic question, one that each State must 
deal with. The Federal Government has no more 
to do with it than it has to do with the barroom 
question, the State convict question, or the question 
of child labor in the factories.” 

But you know, Mr. Toombs, that Mr. Jefferson 
himself tried to exclude slavery in the Northwest- 
ern Territory, and that all territorial government 
since has followed his model. He finally shut out 
slavery in the new territory, and tried to abolish 
slavery in Virginia.” 


[ 36 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 


You are right/’ said Mr. Stephens. “ And 
Jefferson was right. As an original proposition, I 
do not myself favor the ‘ peculiar institution.’ But 
times have changed since Jefferson’s day. ‘ Circum- 
stances alter cases,’ you know, i^at The Southern 
colonies attempted to keep slavery out, but the royal 
authorities of Great Britain forced the African 
slave-trade upon us. IN’ow that the system is a fix- 
ture here, and our whole industrial superstructure 
rests upon that foundation, we can not allow out- 
siders to wreck the building. Why, slavery has be- 
come the cornerstone of Southern interests.” 

Yes,” exclaimed Toombs, it’s one thing to 
oppose a system when it is being introduced, and 
quite another to overthrow it after it has become 
embedded in its place. On that very ground, Web- 
ster, whose best speeches were made against the 
tariff system, now defends it. He says it was 
brought into Hew England over his protest, but that 
since his people have got their money invested in 
manufacturing under the plighted faith of the Gov- 
ernment, these vested rights must not be disturbed. 
Therefore he is a protectionist.” 

At heart, however, he is still a free-trader,” said 
Mr. Stephens, as I infer from a little incident 
that occurred not long ago.” 

What was that ? ” asked several, as Mr. Ste- 
phens paused to refill his pipe. 

Webster went to some city in the Horth to make 
[37 ] 


BETHANY 


a tariif speech, at the instance of Horace Greeley 
and some others of similar faith. Next morning 
the local newspaper came out with flaming headlines 
announcing Webster’s great speech. Beneath the 
headlines was printed, not the address of the evening 
previous, but one of Webster’s powerful free-trade 
arguments made when he was in his youthful prime. 
Horace Greeley and all that crowd were in the ut- 
most dismay, and they raved over the matter in a 
fury of indignation. When they rushed to Mr. 
Webster with the matter, he glanced at the paper 
in his leisurely, magisterial way, then broke into a 
laugh, and said : ^ The speech they have reprinted 
is a far better speech than that I made last night ! ’ ” 
“ Bully for old Dan ! ” cried Toombs, shaking 
with enjoyment. By G — d! he was the biggest 
in the bunch ! D’you remember, Alec, the night he 
and Rufus Choate came to your room in Washing- 
ton, in 1852, to show to us the platform he was will- 
ing to run for President on ? ” 

As if it were last night,” responded Stephens 
promptly. There was a change or two I suggested, 
and Webster readily assented. What a grand Presi- 
dent he would have made ! ” 

A President for the whole country,” exclaimed 
Toombs ; there was no mean sectionalism about 
Daniel Webster. The South lost her one great op- 
portunity when she failed to support him for Presi- 
dent.” 


[ 38 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 


Yes, and it broke bis heart,’’ said Stephens, 
with an emotion that softened his voice. He had 
already been deeply stung by the action of Massa- 
chusetts in electing such a man as Sumner to fill 
his place in the Senate, and when the South refused 
to rally to his support he realized that in trying to 
stand as mediator between the two sections he had 
lost both.” 

Why was it that the South did not support him, 
you reckon?” asked Hat Crawley, with a tone of 
regret in his voice. 

“ Because,” answered Toombs, the South was 
just as angry, just as blind, as the Horth was. The 
Horth flung Webster aside for a radical, and the 
South was just as extreme. In times of revolution 
the most violent is the leader. Men of compromise 
are not worth hell’s room.” 

Well, granting all that you have said, is it a 
fact that the Federal Government proposes to free 
the negroes ? ” asked Hat Crawley, looking up at 
Toombs out of the comer of his eye through the 
smoke of his coh-pipe. 

Don’t you know, sir,” cried Toombs to Crawley, 
that the business of encouraging niggers to mn 
away from us has been reduced to a system, and 
that the ‘ underground railway ’ which transports 
these mnaway niggers to the Horth and into Can- 
ada is the subject of Horthern jeers and boasting? 
Don’t you know that these leaders denounce the Con- 
[ 39 ] 


BETHANY 


stitution as a covenant with hell, and declare that 
they will defy Supreme Court and Constitution, 
appealing to a ^ higher law ’ ? ” 

Toombs ! Toombs ! ” piped the thin voice of 
Mr. Stephens, his tone being that of friendly 
remonstrance. It is hardly fair to hold the North 
responsible for the howls of demagogues and the 
clamor of fanatics. No influential leader of the 
North has yet uttered sentiments like those you 
quote. Upon the other hand, Daniel Webster, at 
Capon Springs, Va., entered his protest against the 
very men you refer to, and took a position which 
satisfied every sensible man in the South.” 

“ I know he did,” flashed Toombs, and I also 
know that Wendell Phillips denounced him as a 
traitor in Fanueil Hall, and that a great audience 
cheered Phillips to the echo. And when Webster 
wanted to speak in the same hall its door was shut 
in his face ! ” 

I hadn’t heard that,” said my grandfather. 

When a man like Webster is denounced by a man 
like Phillips, and New England backs Phillips, it 
looks to me as if the situation was growing desperate. 
What do you think, Nat?” turning to Colonel 
Crawley. 

It all depends upon who it was that listened to 
Phillips and cheered him. I would want to know 
how many representative men were in Fanueil Hall 
at the time. In a big city like Boston you might 
[ 40 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 

collect an audience that would applaud Satan him- 
self.” 

Toombs continued: 

Yes, that’s all true enough, but I am not judg- 
ing the E’orth bj any one incident; it’s the general 
trend of things that alarms me. Didn’t a pall gather 
about Webster after his Seventh of March speech? 
Didn’t !N’ew England fall away from him in an 
hour? His whole life had been devoted to her; for 
a generation or more he had been her champion, her 
apostle. So highly was he esteemed that the wealthy 
men of Hew England, whose interests he protected 
in Congress, supplemented his annual salary with 
a regular anjiuity out of their private purses. Yet 
the moment that he turned against the abolition 
fanatics and pleaded for recognition of Southern 
rights under the Constitution he lost his crown — 
his became a broken scepter.” 

Still we must bear in mind,” said Mr. Stephens, 
that the Seventh of March Speech saved the day 
for the South, that it was Webster who sustained 
the tottering measures of Henry Clay ; and we 
mustn’t jump at the conclusion that Congress can 
be controlled by Garrison and Phillips.” 

I jump at nothing!” answered Toombs; “but 
what’s the use of having eyes and ears if we are 
not to know what is going on? You know, Alec, 
how the Horth hates the South ; you and I see it in 
Congress at every session. Those people hate us, 
[ 41 ] 


BETHANY 


always did, and always will. They are different 
from us in blood, custom, speech, and creed; they 
envy us our wealth and growing power; they will 
never forgive us that we made a success out of 
negro slavery where they tried it and failed; they 
sold us pretty near all the niggers weVe got, and 
now that the slave-trade is at an end and no more 
money can be made out of us, they clamor for 
emancipation.’^ 

Oh, well, that’s one side of the case ; but you 
make a big mistake if you don’t take into considera- 
tion the fact that nine-tenths of the Northern aboli- 
tionists, at this time, are just as honest in their 
convictions as you or I are in ours.” 

‘‘ I don’t deny that,” said Toombs, but history 
proves that most of the harm that has been done to 
States and peoples has been done by men who were 
honest in their convictions. The men of the Inqui- 
sition were doubtless honest, but that was d d 

poor consolation to the victim burning at the stake.” 

The pallid face of Mr. Stephens flushed a little 
at Toombs’s brusque retort; but he answered, calmly 
enough : 

“ The danger which is most apparent in all this 
complication is the ugly temper which has been 
aroused. There has been so much rampant talk on 
both sides, in public and in private, in newspapers 
and in books, that we are steadily nearing the limit 
beyond which argument, reason, deliberation are not 
[42 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 


effective. Popular passions, whipped into angry 
waves by this continual storm of heated discussions, 
will break from all control, and a crisis may approach 
in which the leaders North and South may find it im- 
possible to prevail upon the masses to consider any 
further compromise.” 

Compromise ? ” cried Toombs ; what further 
compromise can be had? All I demand is the pro- 
tection guaranteed me by the Constitution and the 
laws ! If the compact solemnly agreed on by our 
fathers is no protection, if the acts of Congress are 
dead letters, if the plighted faith of a century is 
nothing, then I for one will proclaim to my people 
that the time has come to fight ! ” 

Toombs ! Toombs ! ” again came the remonstrant 
voice of Mr. Stephens, don’t go too fast. Do not 
lash our people into greater excitement. It’s dan- 
gerous, I tell you, it’s dangerous ! See how wild the 
North and South are over this Brooks and Sumner 
matter. Yes, yes, I know what you would say for 
Brooks. Sumner had indeed goaded the Southern 
men into a frenzy, denouncing them in the Senate 
day after day. It was intolerable, I know. And 
had Brooks caned him on the streets, with some 
moderation, there might have been little excitement. 
But while few people love Sumner personally, and 
many hate him cordially, he is the representative 
of the entire North on the slavery question ; and the 
fearful beating Brooks gave him in the Senate 
[43 ] 


BETHANY 


Chamber created a tempest. Brooks simply played 
into the bands of tbe abolitionists, making tbem thou- 
sands of votes.’^ 

That’s so,” remarked Colonel Nat Crawley, 
and the way in which the South gave Brooks public 
ovations, presenting gold-headed canes and naming 
boy-babies after him, doesn’t help matters much. By 
the way, what has become of Brooks and Sumner ? ” 
Mr. Stephens replied : Brooks died somewhat 
suddenly in Washington of a throat disease, and 
Sumner has gone to Europe for medical treatment.” 

Gentlemen, I was standing near when Brooks 
caned Sumner,” said Toombs, and he got no more 
than he deserved. I tell you, the manner in which 
this academic apostle of fanaticism had vilified the 
South generally, and Brooks’s aged uncle. Senator 
Butler, especially, was more than flesh and blood 
could stand. What are you to do with a man who 
takes advantage of his position foully to abuse you 
in public every day, and at the same time says that 
his principles will not allow him to fight ? ” 

Mr. Stephens pondered a moment — for “ Little 
Alec ” himself was a man who would fight, and had 
fought gamely, against the heaviest odds. 

“ I admit that Sumner is the kind of man you 
describe, a man whose colossal vanity and conceit 
have schooled him to the belief that he has the right 
to deal in unlimited abuse of other men without 
ever being called to account. But all this is aside 
[ 44 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 


from the point. What I contend is that with inci- 
dents like these and talk like yours, on the one side, 
and that of Sumner on the other, the ship of State 
will be soon at the mercy of the storm.” 

Let it come ! Let it come ! ” cried Toombs, his 
face ablaze. “ Anything is better than base sur- 
render of vital principle. WeVe either got a lim- 
ited Government, doing business within those limits, 
or weVe got a tyranny of the majority which can 
take the ‘ general welfare ’ clause of the Constitu- 
tion and Hamilton’s doctrine of implied powers, and 
centralize the Republic until Thomas Jefferson 
would not recognize it! I for one would like to 
know which it is to be.” 

Mr. Stephens was silent for a few moments, and 
he reached over to the hearth and knocked the ashes 
from his pipe. 

I know what is in your mind, Toombs,” he then 
said, very soberly. You are thinking of the legis- 
lation the Horth has forced upon the South, their 
policy of diverting the funds in the treasury to the 
building up of their own section, their methods of 
keeping up a copartnership between the Government 
and the moneyed men of the North. We are famil- 
iar with all of that, and more. But, bad as this is, 
let me tell you that civil war is worse.” 

And there is something worse even than civil 
war,” exclaimed Toombs hotly, and that is loss of 
honor, loss of liberty, loss of self-respect, loss of 
[ 45 ] 


BETHANY 


sacred rights. Rather than see the South treated 

like the yellow dog of the Union, d d if I 

wouldn’t even try the issues on the battle-field.” 

Can we afford to go to war to keep the niggers 
in slavery ? ” asked Colonel Crawley. 

Toombs whirled on him like a flash, and the vibra- 
tion of intense feeling was in his voice as he 
replied : 

Fight for the niggers ? Who the hell would 

fight for the d d niggers? Southern men did 

not invent slavery; Southern men did not darken 
the ocean with slave-ships as Rhode Island and 
Massachusetts did; Southern men have led every 
moverhent which looked toward some plan of eman- 
cipation which would be safe for the whites and 
best for the blacks. Even now the country is sprin- 
kled with free negroes set free by Southern whites; 
even now our great religious denominations are 
grappling with the problem and doing their best to 
solve it. If let alone the South will solve the prob- 
lem, but when a lot of d d Yankee fanatics 

crack the whip over our heads and attempt to drive 
us on a question which is purely a domestic ques- 
tion, then, by God! — I say that the nigger question 
gets swallowed by the larger question of home rule, 
of local self-government, of the rights, immunities, 
and independence of the State under the Federal 
Constitution 1 ” 

It would be impossible for me to picture Toombs 
[ 46 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 


as he said this. His lion-like face glowing with pas- 
sion, his great black eyes flashing Are, his tangled 
hair falling about his forehead in a disorder which, 
somehow, became him, his white teeth gleaming now 
and then as the mobile lips fashioned his rapid 
words, the stalwart, full-chested frame a-quiver with 
life and energy; and around him grouped silent, 
rapt, deeply impressed listeners. 

‘‘Fight for the niggers?” he repeated. “Did 
John Hampden flght for a principle or for a paltry 
handful of shillings which a lawless king demanded 
of him? Did our forefathers in the Revolution 
flght for a principle or did they go to war about the 
picayunish sum of money involved in the Stamp 
Tax and Tea Duty ? ” 

Colonel Crawley pondered awhile, and then an- 
swered : 

“ Well, of course Hampden fought for a principle 
and not for a few shillings; and of course our forer 
fathers fought for a principle and not for the money 
involved in those British taxes; but if we provoke 
civil war on this slavery question all the world will 
say that we are flghting to keep the blacks in chains.” 

“ Chains — ^hell ! ” blurted Toombs. “ That’s 
Yankee talk. Who ever saw a nigger in chains? 

Higgers under our system are a d d sight better 

off than they ever were in Africa, better off than 
the white laboring class anywhere. Did you ever 
see a nigger in chains, Hat ? ” 

[47 ] 


BETHANY 


The colonel laughed, and said: ^^No; unless it 
was some runaway nigger who had just been caught.” 

These Yankee Pharisees preach and prate about 
our cruelties to the nigger — ^why donT they concern 
themselves for the white slaves of the Pennsylvania 
coal-fields? Why donT they give some of their 
benevolence to the factory women and children of 
New England? Why, there is more poverty, more 
distress, more beggary, more nakedness and starva- 
tion in the one city of New York than there is in 
the whole South. Who ever heard of a nigger com- 
mitting suicide? — a stem test of misery whose ex- 
amples are to be found throughout the North. They 
have labor riots all over the North, which are put 
down in blood. So it is in England. So it is every- 
where with the wage system. In the South we have 
had slavery two hundred years, and there has been 
but one considerable insurrection.” 

What about the question of morality, Toombs ? ” 
asked Colonel Crawley. “ You know that Harriet 
Martineau and others say a good deal about our 
mulattoes.” 

Yes, I know. Nat, men are the same every- 
where. There have been bastards in the world since 
the days of Ishmael, and there always will be, I 
reckon. It so happens that our illegitimates carry 
a sign — their mixed color tells the secret. But sup- 
pose every corrupted woman in the North wore the 
Scarlet Letter, and suppose every bastard there had 
[ 48 ] 


TWO OF MY HEROES 


a black knob to bis nose, how do you suppose their 
crowded streets would look ? ” 

The way in which Toombs said this caused a gen- 
eral laugh, after which something was said about 
the Mayflower’s having been engaged in the slave- 
trade. 

The Boston people deny that, you know, 
Toombs,” said Mr. Stephens. 

^‘Precisely,” Toombs answered, “precisely; and 
the same people deny that the Hartford Convention 
was a secession meeting. Why, didn’t Senator Hale, 
of Massachusetts, publish that lie about me, accus- 
ing me of boasting that I would call the roll of my 
slaves at Bunker Hill ? ” 

“ It sounded so much like you, Mr. Toombs, that 
most of us down South thought you said it.” This 
remark was made by Colonel Hat Crawley, who was 
no “ fire-eater ” and no blind worshiper of Toombs. 

“ A man who talks as much as Toombs, and who 
hides what he thinks so seldom, may expect to be 
misrepresented now and then,” put in Mr. Stephens. 

“ People call me a ‘ fire-eater,’ ” said Mr. Toombs ; 
“ but as a matter of fact I have done as much as 
anybody in Congress and out of it to hold the Union 
together.” 

“ That is true, sir ! ” my grandfather assented. 
“ Had it not been for you and Mr. Stephens and 
Howell Cobb, the disunion movement might have 
carried this State in 1850.” 

[ 49 ] 


5 


BETHANY 


And so the conversation trailed off into local de- 
tails, which in turn led to incidents and anecdotes, 
and so to high good-humor all round till bedtime. 
As they rose to go to their rooms, Toombs said : 

Squire Horton, that’s a bright little grandson 
you’ve got over there — most lads would have been 
fast asleep by now.” 

It was the great Bob Toombs taking notice of me, 
a tiny bit of a boy ! Grandfather was pleased, and 
I was delighted ; and next day, after the two lawyers 
had gone on their way to court, I practised my lungs 
on Hurrah for Toombs ! ” 


[ 50 ] 


CHAPTEK III 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 

A CHANGE was. taking place around us. There 
was more political agitation, and the discussion 
seemed to become more heated. I could hear them 
talk at the fireside of a ^Tig speech ” made by 
this man or that man, at this place or that, and the 
position taken by the speaker would be gravely com- 
mented on by my grandfather. Occasionally he 
would have his body-servant, Wilson, drive him to 
some mass-meeting in the vicinity where Toombs, or 
Stephens, or Ben Hill was to speak. Upon his return 
he would tell us about it, repeating the points made 
by the orator, describing the conduct and demon- 
strations of the audience, and, generally, giving us 
an account of some fist and skull ” fight which had 
taken place between rival bullies. With it all, my 
grandfather began to suspect that storms were brew- 
ing. But most people hooted at the idea that there 
would be any war, and it was current belief that the 
Yankees were boasters who would not fight. Every 
Southern man could whip five of them, and so forth. 
Toombs had declared that he would drink all the 
[511 


BETHANY 


blood that was spilled ; and had, moreover, said that 
we could whip ^em with corn-stalks/’ 

It was just such wild talk as this which made 
Toombs the hero of the hustings, and caused the 
elders to mistrust his judgment. Only such intimate 
friends as Stephens knew how cool was Toombs at 
the council board, and how wary when the time came 
for action. The South believed he said he would 
drink all the blood that was shed; and the North 
believed that he had boasted that he would call the 
roll of his slaves on Bunker Hill; yet it was this same 
Toombs who was to do his utmost to compromise the 
differences between the two sections; and it was he 
who, standing alone in his attitude of protest, was to 
warn his associates not to fire upon Fort Sumter! 

We began to hear of brash speeches made by 
Northern leaders, and I could see how wrathful these 
speeches made our people. Seward had said that 
the confiict between North and South was irre- 
pressible; Lincoln had declared that the Union could 
not exist half slave and half free; Zach Chandler 
had said that what the country needed was some 
blood-letting. Seward had publicly appealed to the 
Northern citizen to ‘^defend the fugitive slave as 
he would his household gods.” Garrison and Phil- 
lips were denouncing the Union, and the Constitu- 
tion which tolerated slavery, and were clamoring for 
disunion. 

Above all the individual threats and insults and 
[52 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


challenges rang the great war-cry of the abolition 
movement that the Constitution which their fathers 
and ours had made, signed, and sworn to, was a dead 
letter, a league with death and a covenant with hell ! 
God! How that kind of talk up JSTorth did fire the 
hot-heads down South! 

The Alabama orator, William L. Yancey, who 
had been put in the background a few years before 
on account of his extreme secession views, had re- 
gained his leadership, increased his power, and was 
lashing the people to madness. He held Alabama 
in the hollow of his hand. He toured the South, 
the Horth, the West, making State-Rights speeches 
in favor of slavery. Perhaps, he was the most 
aggressive agitator in the South, yet so wonderful 
was the man’s magnetism and gift of speech that he 
met ovations even in Hew England. Give him ten 
minutes to get started and he seemed to he able to 
talk any mixed crowd off its feet. And now, at this 
critical period, he had quit his law practice and was 
giving his whole soul and time to the advocacy of 
extreme pro-slavery ideas. He was even under- 
stood to be in favor of reopening the slave trade by 
legal enactment. 

While things were in this whirl and turmoil, a 
mass-meetiAg was announced for Bethany. Toombs 
and Stephens, who were, personally, the best of 
friends, had drifted apart, politically; and they were 
combating each other, might and main. They had 
[53 ] 


BETHANY 


consented to have a friendly discussion at Beth- 
any. Hence, our local excitement. A joint debate 
between two such men was an event. Everybody 
wanted to be there. 

A committee to arrange the details was arranged ; 
and the members of it went around among the prom- 
inent planters asking contributions to the barbecue, 
without which a Southern mass-meeting would have 
lacked an essential ingredient. Who would give a 
carcass ’’ ? That is, who would donate a shoat, 
lamb, beef, or goat? Who would give a barrel of 
bread? Who a keg of cider? Who would haul the 
lumber to make the stand for the speakers, the 
benches for the ladies to sit upon, the tables for the 
dinner? There was no difficulty about this: two 
enthusiastic citizens volunteered to be responsible for 
any shortage. They only lost one hundred dollars 
apiece on the guarantee — a fact which one of them 
feebly and mournfully refers to even now, in his 
extreme old age. 

Up went the speakers^ stand, six feet above the 
ground, and over this was framed a sloping shelter: 
in front ranged planks, resting on logs, with seats 
for the ladies; away off to one side ran the trench 
where the carcasses were to be swung over the glow- 
ing coals of oak and hickory wood; and not far from 
this pit ran, from tree to tree, the dinner-table — two 
undressed pine planks resting side to side on brackets 
nailed to trees, and supported by plank legs — and 
[ 54 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


this hasty table stretched out fifty feet long or more, 
under the trees. On each side of this plank table the 
people would stand and eat — using fingers and 
pocket-knives in primitive fashion. During the 
evening preceding the great day, and all during the 
night, the committee and its assistants were hard at 
work — receiving the dressed carcasses, the barrels of 
bread, watching the pits where the fires glowed and 
where in the early morning the carcasses would be 
swung to be slow-cooked over the coals. 

The great day came, and with it the big speak- 
ers,” and the crowds of people. 

Mother, let me go? ” I teased and teased and 
teased; till finally grandfather said: Let him go, 
Martha,” and my mother fitted my Sunday hat to 
my head, gave me a clean handkerchief, and away 
we went. Vehicles had been passing since day- 
break, all heading for Bethany. The dust from 
buggies and wagons hung over the road for miles, 
as far as eye could reach. We trotted along, pass- 
ing the wagons and the slower buggies, exchanging 
greetings as we did so, and catching parts of conversa- 
tions that were being held by those whose vehicles 
traveled close together. Politics, politics, it was all 
about politics. Some man would sing out Hurrah 
for Stephens ! ” another would shout for Toombs. 
My grandfather was not the man to shout for any- 
body in his old age, but he was a great admirer of 
Toombs, and always voted his way. 

[ 55 ] 


BETHANY 


What a crowd there was in the woods on the 
ridge just beyond the western limits of Bethany! 
Wagons, ox-carts, buggies, carriages, were scattered 
about over acres of ground : saddle-horses were 
hitched to swinging limbs ; men on foot were coming 
on every path. By ten o’clock it was a mass-meet- 
ing, indeed. Ladies filled the seats in front of the 
stand, children ran in and out among the benches, 
babies cried, and many a mother could be seen suck- 
ling these infants as modestly as the thing could be 
done under the circumstances. To the rear of the 
benches and far out upon both sides the men were 
standing, hats on. The smoke and the smell of the 
barbecue were already ascending to quicken appe- 
tites with suggestions of the feast to come, and pre- 
liminary shouts, cheers for this speaker or that, were 
making the woods ring. 

The committee leading the way, the big 
speakers ” mounted the steps. There was royal 
Toombs, with his unlit cigar, his gold-headed cane, 
his mass of disordered hair which became him 
so — his lofty port, his dark, handsome face, his 
big, black eyes, which flashed with the joy of 
battle. 

There was Stephens, so frail looking, so wan and 
sad, so self-possessed and reserved, looking so much 
like some old spinster dressed in man’s clothing. In 
fact, there were those who said that he, like the 
famous J ohn Eandolph of Koanoke, was — ^well, 
[ 56 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 

never mind, for it was not true, and I myself heard 
Richard Malcolm Johnston say that Stephens was 
just as much a full-sexed man as anybody. When 
you looked at Stephens closely you saw that he was 
tall, that his chest was good, that his neck was large, 
his cheek-bones prominent, his jaw strong, his fore- 
head high and broad, and when you looked into the 
depth of his large brown eyes you met a glance 
which commanded your confidence, your good-will, 
your respect. 

Mr. Stephens spoke first. The contrast between 
him — his meager frame and squeaky voice — and 
Bob Toombs’s superb physical endowment, was pain- 
ful, creating a feeling of pitying sympathy. But in 
a short time the feeble frame of Stephens was seen 
to become galvanized by his own electrical power, 
and the thin voice made friends with the ear, as it 
rose into higher, fuller volume, becoming at length 
an almost perfect tenor which carried every syllable 
to the uttermost limits of the crowd. He practised 
none of the graces of oratory, drove straight to his 
point, used many long sentences with qualifying 
clauses, and would tell an occasional anecdote to illus- 
trate his argument. How and then as he approached 
a climax his long right arm would be stretched on 
high, held rigid until the last word of the sentence 
was rushing from his thin lips, and, with these last 
words, down would come the hand, striking the open 
palm of the left with a resounding smack; and then 
[ 57 ] 


BETHANY 


such a roar of applause there would be from the 
assembled thousands! 

People of this generation who only heard Stephens 
after the war can form no conception of what he was 
in his prime. Por an hour the shrill, tenor voice 
rang through the woods, and then Stephens sat down, 
wet with sweat, his collar limp as a rag. Out of a 
goodly bottle he was furnished by his black body- 
servant, Harry, with a glass of stimulant, and was 
carefully wrapped in a voluminous overcoat. 

Then came Toombs. He dealt in no finesse, told 
no anecdotes, steered clear of personalities, deal- 
ing in direct assault and sledge-hammer blows. Side- 
issues were nothing to him, subordinate points he 
would not notice. He massed all his strength, 
hurled it against the real center of resistance, hurled 
it with all his power, every gun in action, and lost 
or won in this concentrated assault on the strong 
point. He used the strongest arguments, the fiercest 
invective, the keenest ridicule — there were flashes 
of wit, flights of eloquence, figures of speech — all 
poured out with torrent-like volume and rapidity. 
He seemed to forget everything but his subject. He 
ranted, he roared, he stamped, he rushed back and 
forth, — ^his arms furious with gesticulations, his hair 
tossed about like the mane of a plunging horse, the 
froth flying from his lips. 

You never saw anything like it! A torrent 
bursting through a mountain gorge; a wind-storm, 
[ 58 ] 



EGBERT TOOMBS 






















r ' *^1 




Sr: 


r> 




- 


’> 


* 






^ 'SiT' 




V 


y 




* 


Wi; 




:i~ 






15-' 






-^‘- 


{• 






V •-, 








-Tt'-': 








i I 






/* *5 


1-;^ 

’ * s*-*: ■ 'jstT' 




M 


«'y»i 




«v 




r-i 


i 






-'V 


^ %- 


\Sc 


• # I 




r . 




u 




ri*> 


A. 


S' 




*j?: 




^TV 




• >■ 




lf» 


liJ.l. 




* « ■• 




4 ^ 




I 


a 


.1 « 


1 i^i 


>V-: Cj ‘ 


tr 


♦.I 'ir 




V 






‘•m- " 






> I 




v- 


^j 


L-\ 


u> 




I j 




I 






L'TS 


i I 


**' 5*^: 


r -» A 

i4<' " 


•n.* ‘ 


J M 








■V 


n 






X % 


iw 


,:. *•' 


,a 




fi^r 


■ ->• *‘mf^f^C^. K\^' Bl 


Li> 


?5,. 


• V 






r’t • 


♦• **. • 




^ • 


rf: 


iK^' 


fe"-'. •. '■It'. 

^ rtT* .- • ‘I '• • 
















i**!- 






i-ii 










a 


r.-'c- i: 




1 J 


P 








- 




... 


\^hM.. 




« ' ..ij 









A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


with thunder and lightning, tearing through a 
forest; a volcano in eruption — ^these were the things 
Toombs’s speech reminded you of; and when you 
once heard Bob Toombs on the stump ” you could 
speak of it in the same tone as that used when one 
said, “ I saw Job Stuart lead a cavalry charge,” or 
“ I saw Pickett’s brigade at Gettysburg.” It was a 
thing you could never forget; and nothing else was 
like it in elemental grandeur. 

The line of reasoning taken by Mr. Stephens was 
that the time had not come for extreme measures. 
He contended that Congress would not and could not 
abolish slavery; that the power of the South in the 
Senate, aided as it was by Horthem Democrats, 
could not be overridden; that the Supreme Court 
was on our side, and was ready to declare null and 
void any legislation which went beyond constitu- 
tional limits. The burden of the address was : 

Be patient, wait till the Horth attempts to put its 
threats into practise. Let them be the first to dis- 
rupt the Union, not you. The Senate stands be- 
tween you and fanaticism; the Supreme Court is 
your rampart. Washington city, the national cap- 
ital, is Southern to the core; and the chiefs of the 
army are men of Southern birth; don’t abandon a 
position which can not be stormed. Don’t play into 
the hands of your enemy, as the Scotch army did at 
Dunbar, by vacating lines which as long as you 
remain in them are impregnable to attack.” 

[ 59 ] 


BETHANY 


He spoke of the many noble men of the North 
who were our friends. Some of the best types of 
men he had ever known were of Northern birth and 
lineage. They were clean and strong and brave and 
true — ^better men did not breathe the breath of life. 

Why alienate such friends as these? Why not 
remain in a position in which we could expect their 
help ? Why venture into a secession movement which 
would make it impossible for the Northern Demo- 
crats to render us any service ? 

He argued that the South had prospered in the 
Union, that within the last ten years Georgia had 
doubled her wealth. He declared that the growth 
of the United States was the wonder and admiration 
of the world. The government was not perfect, but 
what human institution could be perfect? It was 
an improvement upon England’s, and far better than 
that of any other country on the globe. Why incur 
the awful risks of breaking up such a Union? Wait 
till Congress had violated the Constitution. Don’t 
presuppose it violated. Let the other side conunit 
the glaring wrong, do the unconstitutional thing — 
then strike. In that case, give them lead, if need 
be. In such a case he himself would be for dis- 
union. 

Our institutions have made us what we are — 
great, prosperous, progressive. Destroy those insti- 
tutions, and what would we be ? The life would pass 
from the body politic, as it passed from Greece and 

[60 J 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 

Rome. There has been much talk of the fishery boun- 
ties and navigation laws, but they were passed when 
the South was in control of the government, and the 
South has made no serious effort to repeal them. 
Then there is the tariff which, it is claimed, plunders 
the South, for the benefit of the I^orth. But the 
last tariff act lowered the duties to the revenue basis 
and Massachusetts voted with South Carolina. My 
friend Toombs himself voted for the bill. 

As to the fugitive slave law, I admit it has been 
nullified, but I would have the South seek redress in 
a legal way before resorting to secession. Let that 
Southern state whose citizen has suffered present for- 
mal claim for redress to the state wherein the wrong 
was committed. If the wrong be not righted, retali- 
ate on the property of that state and upon the prop- 
erty of citizens of that state. 

Let us also demand of the ]!^orthem states the 
repeal of their nullification acts — the personal liberty 
bills — and if these demands are not heeded, I will 
join you in setting up another government in which 
our rights will be protected. 

In my judgment, the states have the right to 
secede whenever the fundamental conditions of the 
compact, as embodied in the Constitution, are vio- 
lated; but I do not believe you have the right to 
secede simply because the I^orth elects a President 
whom the South does not like. I am a Jeffersonian 
Democrat and believe that every people have the 
[ 61 ] 


BETHANY 


inherent, natural right to make and to change and 
to abolish their form of gO'vemment, at will; but I 
also believe that such a right is one to be exercised 
only in extreme cases, where the liberty and the hap- 
piness of the people can be preserved in no other 
way. 

My countrymen, no such crisis has as yet come 
upon you. It is threatened, I grant; but as yet it 
is no more than a threat. I conjure you by all you 
hold dear, all that you hold sacred, do not be driven 
into rash measures. Wait, wait, wait ! 

Whenever the time comes that the North com- 
mits the unconstitutional act, giving you the full 
legal provocation ” 

Here the withered arm was held up as high as the 
orator could reach, the maimed, stiff fingers out- 
stretched upward 

You will not need to doubt where Alec Stephens 
is: he will be with his people, to live and die in the 
defense of Southern rights ! ” 

The hand had come down, swift as a hawk-swoop, 
had slapped the open palm of its mate with a resound- 
ing smack, and the crowd was yelling wildly. 

During the address of Stephens, Toombs had 
turned and twisted on his seat, crossing and uncross- 
ing his legs, and nervously shifting his unlit cigar. 
Time and again he had thrown up his hand and 
tossed his hair. I^Hien Stephens closed, he barely 
awaited the chairman^s announcement before he went 
[62 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


to work. Almost without preliminaries, he grappled 
with the prominent points involved in the discus- 
sion. 

The N^orth had broken the conditions upon which 
the Constitution had been adopted — broken it in the 
personal liberty bills which nullified the fugitive 
slave law ; broken it by denying us the fundamental 
principle of equality in the common territory; broken 
it by electing to the highest offices, state and national, 
avowed enemies to the Constitution and to the 
Union, men who had declared over and over again 
that there was a higher law ’’ than the Constitu- 
tion, men who had declared that the Union must be 
dissolved if slavery could be got rid of in no other 
way, men who had organized sectional hatred and by 
a geographical line of cleavage had already cut the 
Union in two. 

Had not William Lloyd Garrison publicly burned 
the Constitution, denouncing it as a covenant with 
death and a league with hell? 

Had not Congressmen, like Seward and Wade, 
and Abraham Lincoln virtually declared that the 
constitutional guarantees in favor of slavery were 
waste paper? 

The time had passed when the abolitionists were 
a despised minority. They were growing every day 
— ^growing bolder, more violent, more lawless. 

Had Southern people forgotten Kansas and 
Beecher’s Bibles ” — the Sharp’s rifies, which had 
[63 1 


BETHANY 


been bought by public subscriptions in the North- 
ern churches and sent to Kansas for the avowed pur- 
pose of preventing Southern men from enjoying in 
that territory the equality of property rights guar- 
anteed by the supreme law of the land? 

Had they forgotten th© five helpless, unoffending, 
unsuspecting white settlers from the South into 
whose humble homes in Kansas John Brown had 
broken, at the dead hour of the night, and whose 
lives he had taken with the ferocity of a maniac — 
tearing these peaceful citizens from the arms of their 
wives, from the clinging hands of their children, and 
butchering them in cold blood! 

And for what? 

Because they were men of the South! 

The abolitionists were no longer to be despised. 
They were fast climbing to power. The very vio- 
lence of their crusade tended to their success in the 
communities in which they worked. Their energy, 
their organization, their honest fanaticism would 
sweep all barriers away. Even now the politicians 
of the North were taking hold of the movement and 
giving it intelligent manipulation. The honest 
fanatic, the abolitionist, is to be used as a lever to 
drive the South from power. When that is done 
slavery is doomed. The men whom the abolitionists 
elect will not dare disobey the fierce sentiment to 
which they will owe their elevation. Slavery is 
doomed — ^no matter what any man may say. Cry 
[ 64 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


peace ! till tlie heavens fall ! — there is no peace. And 
when the South shall have been driven from power, 
not only will the equality of the states be over- 
thrown, but the centralizing principles of Hamilton 
will enter the open door of the long-coveted oppor- 
tunity. 

Have we not had provocation, heaped up, running 
over? Suppose we compromise again, will the Horth 
keep faith any better than she did on the Calhoun- 
Clay compromise during nullification times? Was 
that not a fair-square agreement between sections? 
Calhoun and the South lived up to it; the Horth 
ignored it, inside of ten years. 

Is not their purpose plain? Have their threats no 
meaning? Are the publicly declared purposes of 
the black Republicans and the abolitionists generally 
to be treated as empty words? 

“ I tell you it is the coiled snake, springing its 
rattle! Will you stand idle — ^waiting for the deadly 
fangs? I tell you it is the first low growl of the 
thunder. Will you take no thought of shelter from 
the coming storm? 

It is your foe, your hereditary foe, arming, 
threatening, seeking your life ! Will you wait like 
tame cowards to be overwhelmed ? ” 

Toombs had not spoken twenty minutes before he 
had obliterated (for the majority) all that had been 
said on the other side. In his favor were sectional 
prejudice, local pride, suspicious self-interest, the 
6 [ 65 1 


BETHANY 


political education of a generation, and tlie natural 
love of combat of a hot-blooded people. 

Rapidly he went over the historical ground, and 
then continued : How long has it been,” he cried, 
in passionate tones, “ since lawless men fitted out 
a slave ship, the Wanderer, and brought a cargo of 
niggers, fresh from Africa, to Savannah? Was not 
the captain of that pirate-ship a full-blooded Yankee, 
and was it not found impossible to get him arrested 
in New York until Jere Black, Attorney General 
of the United States, entrusted the duty to his assist- 
ant, Henry R. Jackson, of Savannah?” 

He arraigned the Northern states for the hypocrisy 
of their emancipation acts. Even now,” he said, 

the white sails of Northern slave-ships flutter in 
every sea. Eighty odd such ships cleared from New 
York this very year. 

They didn’t pass their emancipation laws,” he 
shouted, till they had sold us their niggers.” 

Here the crowd yelled. 

Vermont led off in the business and claims the 
credit of the first emancipation act. How many 
niggers do you suppose Vermont had when she 
passed her great act of freedom? She had seven- 
teen.” 

Yells and roars of laughter and shouts of “ Go it, 
Toombs! Give ’em hell.” 

The orator continued : They preach to us of our 
duty and yet we have set free by voluntary act in the 

[66 1 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


South a greater number of negroes than were emanci- 
pated hj the 'New England states.” 

Yes,” continued Toombs, and after Vermont 
had freed the seventeen niggers which she could not 
sell, she turned round with the impudence of your 
true Pharisee and demanded that Virginia should 
follow her glorious example — Virginia, which num- 
bers her slaves by the quarter million.” He quoted 
John Randolph’s remark, that in reference to negro 
slavery the South was in the position of the hunter 
who had the wolf by the ears. It was difficult to 
hold on and dangerous to turn loose.” He argued 
that sudden, general emancipation would be bad for 
the blacks as well as for the whites; that the South 
alone understood the question and must be allowed to 
deal with it; that the question was entirely beyond 
the jurisdiction of Congress, so far as the states were 
concerned; and that for Congress to meddle with it 
was usurpation — such an invasion of reserved rights, 
such a violation of principle as no brave people ever 
did or ever would submit to without a fight. The 
states had gone into the Union, one by one, as sepa- 
rate, sovereign communities. They had entered only 
upon written conditions. If those conditions were 
violated, the contract was at an end, and the states 
could separately go out as they had separately 
gone in. 

In a voice which vibrated with passion, while his 
whole frame quivered, as you have seen a steam 

[ 67 ] 


BETHANY 

engine throb under a high pressure of steam, he 
shouted : 

Why blind ourselves to facts, why be wilfully 
deaf? The whole North is organizing its traditional 
hatred of the South, and unless you are willing to 
free the niggers, of your own accord, it will be done 
in spite of you. It all comes to this — submission to 
their behests, cowardly surrender of your rights as 
freemen, or resistance. 

And I tell you now that if you surrender to their 
dictation, the loss of your slaves will not be the worst 
feature of the social revolution. The same fanatics 
who demand this will demand more, and more, till 
God alone can foretell where it will end. 

These New Englanders hate us, have ever hated 
us — under forms of law, they rob us, have ever 
robbed us! They despoiled us after the revolution- 
ary war when they compelled the general govern- 
ment to assume their state debts — debts which they 
had made no efforts to pay, and which under their 
damnable tariffs we of the agricultural section have 
been compelled to pay. Yes, under Hamilton’s in- 
famous scheme, the South had not only to pay her 
own war-debts, but New England’s, too! Who was 
enriched by the funding system? The Yankee who 
speculated in the miseries of his country! Where 
are the fortunes which the tariff filches from the 
pockets of Southern people? In the North. Whose 
money dredges the New England river, and creek, 
[ 68 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 

and harbor? Yours, the hard-earned dollars of the 
South, paid in taxes, tariff taxes, which under the 
hypocritical plea of protecting the American laborer 
pillages the unprivileged many of the South to en- 
rich the specially favored few of the ]!^orth! 

“ Pharisees, hypocrites, robbers ! Did not they 
threaten to secede when James Madison was de- 
manding of Spain that the Mississippi River be 
opened to American commerce ? Yes, and why ? Be- 
cause they grudged the South that imperial water- 
way to prosperity, wishing to keep her in depend- 
ence upon themselves. Did they not threaten to 
secede because the vast Louisiana country was 
about to be annexed to the Union — and again 
when Texas knocked at our door? Yes — and again 
why? Because they were jealous of the South, 
grudged her increase of power, hating her as 
they have always done — ^hating her as the narrow, 
bigoted, close-fisted Puritan has always hated the 
genial, tolerant, liberal Cavalier. Under the Louisi- 
ana purchase, Texas was ours. We needed and 
wanted it. The Uorth feared an extension of South- 
ern power, threatened us with disunion, and we had 
to turn loose Texas, and buy Elorida to keep the 
Northern politicians satisfied. Go read Andrew 
Jackson’s letter of 1820 where he advises that we 
give up Texas to pacify the R’orth.” 

This was a telling point and created a sensation. 
Enthusiasts yelled, Go it, Toombs ! ” 

[ 69 ] 


BETHANY 


He continued; 

By special license of the Spanish king, slavery 
existed in Louisiana. By our treaty of purchase, 
Napoleon Bonaparte bound us to protect the people, 
their religion and their property; yet the North has 
destroyed slave property in immense areas of the 
Louisiana purchase. Loyal ? They boast of fidelity 
to the Union? Since when have they become enti- 
tled to such a distinction? Was it during the em- 
bargo when New England schemed disunion, and 
her leaders held treasonable relations with the 
national foe — the British? Did not John Quincy 
Adams go to President Jefferson and tell him that 
New England leaders had arranged for their own 
safety by separate agreement with Great Britain, 
and that New England's relations with the Union 
would be suspended? Was not this threat of New 
England the cause of our national weakness and 
shame at that crisis? Who lit the signal-fires which 
blazed along New England's coast to warn British 
vessels whether to anchor? Who nullified the Presi- 
dents proclamations when he called for troops? 
Where did selfish leaders, with no thought of the 
national honor, secure the election of delegates to 
a secession convention, coercing the President into 
making a dishonorable peace to prevent the disrup- 
tion of the Union? 

''In New England— New England, which has 
always used the government for her own purposes, 

[ 70 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


which knocks forever at the door of. the national 
treasury and never gets enough — ^^'ew England, 
which eternally prays the Pharisee’s prayer, and 
grabs an appropriation with every amen! Hiding 
the greedy finger of the tax-gatherer in the tariff, 
where the unconscious citizen pays his tax in the price 
of the goods, she has steadily increased the people’s 
burdens, steadily increased the sums which flow into 
the treasury, and, while her favored classes pile up 
fortunes out of governmental discriminations, she as 
a section takes ten dollars out of the treasury for 
every one that she puts in. 

Every time a Yankee catches a cod-fish the tax- 
payers of the South have to pay him a bounty for it. 

One of her own Senators declared in the Senate 
that ^ without the tariff, Hew England would be a 
howling wilderness.’ In other words, your tribute 
makes her wealth. Who can doubt the final result? 
The East, which God made poor, will, by unrighteous 
legislation, be made rich; while the South, which 
God made rich, in all natural advantages, will be 
impoverished. The unscrupulous lawmaker, more of 
a robber than the corsair or buccaneer ever was, has 
so contrived his laws that wealth will be transferred, 
by the million, every year, from the pockets of one 
class to those of another — from one section to the 
other. What do they really care for the nigger? 
Hothing! By their laws their nigger is no citizen. 
The citizenship is limited by law to the whites, all 
[ 71 ] 


BETHANY 


over the North. In Massachusetts it is a crime for 
a free nigger to remain in the state more than two 
days. In Connecticut didn’t the Legislature pass an 
act forbidding the education of negroes, and didn’t a 
mob break up Prudence Crandall’s school for colored 
girls, set fire to her house, and terrorize her into 
submission? 

Do they treat their laborers as well as we treat 
ours? Do they nurse them when sick, and support 
them in their old age? No! It’s the old hatred and 
jealousy again. We made slavery a success and they 
didn’t; we are out-running them in the race of pros- 
perity — the figures show it — and they want to strike 
us a crippling blow, by disorganizing our whole labor 
system, our entire industrial fabric. Who can fore- 
see the consequences if the government usurps the 
power to dictate to us about our domestic concerns? 
If the fanatics of New England can emancipate the 
negro, what else will they do for him? They can 
not leave him alone. Will they give him the ballot? 
Will they try to legislate him into equality with you? 
Will they try to force you to open your dwellings to 
him, your public ofiices to him, your schools and your 
jury-boxes to him? Even now Judge William Jay, 
of New York, a son of the famous John Jay, who 
twice sold out the South in commercial treaties to 
benefit the North, has published a statement that the 
purpose of the abolition movement is not only to 
free the nigger, but to elevate him to civil and politi- 
[72 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


cal equality with the whites. And where is the idiot 
who doesn’t know that if you give the nigger civil and 
political equality you can not deny social equality? 
Do you want social equality in the South ? ” 

This time there were no hand-claps, no yells — only 
a silence of intense feeling. Like a clarion, the voice 
of Toombs rang out in the stillness: 

Social equality? Yes, and there’s a deeper hell 
than even that into which these madmen would 
plunge us ! It is miscegenation ! ” 

Oh, Toombs, mind what you say ! What is your 
authority for that ? ” 

It was Mr. Stephens interrupting, in a voice of 
remonstrance. 

So great was the excitement in the crowd that 
women rose from their seats, and the pressure of the 
men towards the stand was tremendous. Toombs did 
not halt nor hesitate : 

“ What is my authority ? My honorable friend 
demands authority — ^he shall have it ! 

Wendell Phillips is the Peter the Hermit of this 
Abolition Crusade — what does he say? 

Of miscegenation he says that ^ it is God’s own 
method of crushing out the hatred of race, and of 
civilizing and elevating the world.’ 

“ Henry Ward Beecher, brother to her who wrote 
‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin ’ — what does he say ? 

Discussing this very question of intermarriage 
between whites and blacks, he declares ^ that every 
[ 73 ] 


BETHANY 


great nation has been married into its greatness by 
the union of many stocks. By-and-by the negro of 
the South, growing paler with every generation, will 
at last completely hide his face under the snow.’ 

“ Is Horace Greeley an authority on abolition 
views ? Well, Greeley also defends intermarriage be- 
tween the negroes and the whites. 

So does Theodore Tilton, Cassius M. Clay, Con- 
gressman N. P. Banks, Lucretia Mott, and dozens of 
others of the leaders — and no man need doubt that 
the. apostles I have already named speak the true 
sentiments of the abolition movement! 

What will be your future if fanaticism be not 
checked? No man can foretell! But I warn you 
with all the earnestness of my nature that if Con- 
gress can usurp the power to free the slave, you have 
everything to fear — ^your civilization, built up at such 
vast expense of toil and blood, will be at stake! 
Your safety as a race will be at stake! The most 
sacred interests of home and fireside will be at stake ! 
They hate you ! They hate you ! And the black pas- 
sions which drive them on now to denounce the Con- 
stitution of our fathers as a covenant with hell, will 
hurry them on to arm three million savages with the 
power of the ballot, impelled by no other motive 
under God Almighty’s heaven than to punish the 
South; degrade the South; impoverish, pollute, and 
everlastingly blight the South ! ” 

Never in my life have I seen an orator more im- 
[ 74 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


passioned, an audience more deeply stirred. Women 
had quit waving handkerchiefs, men no longer 
clapped hands and cheered, ^^o: they sat there in 
deathlike stillness, faces white and rigid, eyes 
blazing — some with lips parted as though they had 
been running. To know how the South felt at that 
time one must have been at such a mass-meeting as 
this and heard William L. Yancey, of Alabama, or 
Bob Toombs, of Georgia. 

In his conclusion Mr. Stephens was not at his best. 
The demonstrations of the crowd had, perhaps, dis- 
couraged him. But he packed as much good sense 
into the half-hour as any man could have done. 

He called attention to the fact that the fugitive 
slave matter was not a serious grievance to Georg- 
ians: it concerned, mainly, the border states. He 
protested that the line of argument taken by Toombs 
was not fair, since it held the entire Horth responsi- 
ble for the acts of extremists, minorities, and fanat- 
ics. Would the South like to be judged by the same 
standard ? 

He contended that much of our trouble had its 
origin in the honest misunderstanding of one another 
on the part of both Horth and South. In such a 
case moderation, in word and deed, was the best 
medicine. 

Let us be patient, let us stand on the defensive, let 
us be the last to violate the peace or the law. We 
could not possibly lose anything by waiting until the 
[ 75 ] 


BETHANY 


abolitionists sbonld commit some act wbicb would 
prove to all the world that the Constitution had been 
wantonly disregarded, and our solemnly guaranteed 
rights under it openly and flagrantly trampled upon. 
Should the abolitionists do this, we should then have 
just cause for secession, and the public sentiment of 
the world would be on our side. 

Otherwise it would be made to appear that we 
were rash and unreasonable, and that our purpose was 
to destroy the government because we had not been 
allowed to extend slavery. 

In that event we would appear to the world to be 
fighting for slavery, and the public sentiment would 
be against us. 

We would find that this power could do us im- 
mense injury if the North won it and we lost it. 

It was long after the usual dinner-hour when the 
audience split up and gathered about the tables; and 
even as the rough-and-ready feast went on, the 
speeches were excitedly discussed. 

Suddenly there was a rush of feet, the sound of 
angry voices, and the cry rang out : A fight ! A 
fight! Make a ring! Fair play! ” 

A lay preacher, named Hillman, being jeered at 
by a stalwart fellow-citizen for an alleged change of 
front on the political issues, hotly denied the charge 
— giving the lie to his accuser. Whereupon, Thom- 
son, the said accuser, flung off his coat, rolled up his 
[ 76 ] 


A POLITICAL BARBECUE 


sleeves, and rushed upon Hillman. Before he could 
grapple, a still more stalwart man, equally ready to 
fight, stepped across ” Thomson in such a way as to 
trip him up — Thomson falling to the ground, with 
Hood, the interloper, on top of him. Hood immedi- 
ately inserted his thumbs into Thomson's eyes, to 
gouge them out. The fight was stopped — hut not be- 
fore Thomson was blinded for that day. His friends 
led him away, and put him in a buggy to he driven 
home. It was several weeks before he recovered the 
use of one eye ; the other had been destroyed. 

Hot long before we were to start home, I witnessed 
a difficulty between three Democrats. They were 
more or less drunk, and were great friends. The 
most intoxicated of the three was a tall, strong man 
named Bean. His friends, Bohler and Carter, were 
trying to get him started home. Bean was obstrep- 
erous and would not entertain the proposition. 
Bohler insisting. Bean became quarrelsome and said 
things calculated to anger his friend Bohler. But 
Bohler took it all in good part, laughed tipsily, and 
kept saying to Bean ^‘Come! let’s go home.” Eor 
the third or fourth time Bean pushed Bohler off, and 
swore at him. And then to my amazement Carter, 
who had not been pushed or cursed at, showed signs 
of furious anger, and muttering I’ll put a stop to 
this,” rushed upon Bean with an open knife. I saw 
Carter lay the blade to Bean’s cheek, to his chin, to 
both sides of the neck, and as the blade was lifted 
[ 77 ] 


BETHANY 


the blood gushed from four wounds. Bean did 
nothing, was too drunk, too dazed to do anything; 
and when Captain Lansdell stepped between them 
and said, This must stop,” Carter shut up his knife 
and put it in his poeket as suddenly as he had com- 
menced the cutting. They sent for the nearest doc- 
tor; and while the doctor was dressing the wounds 
the head of Bean was held affectionately in the lap 
of the man who had cut him. And in the funniest, 
drunken way Carter was trying to explain to the 
bystanders what had occurred. 

Bean kept on asking, Carter, what did you cut 
me for ? ” And each time the question was asked 
Carter commenced a new explanation. Each ver- 
sion of it put the blame further away from Carter. 
The last I saw of them they were on their way home. 
Carter giving Bean his best attention and still 
elaborating that explanation. I got the impression 
that Carter had thoroughly convinced himself that, 
if Bean had been cut at all, it was some party un- 
known who had cut him. 


CHAPTER lY 


THE BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 

The political storm that was brewing beat but 
faintly upon the inner life of our plantation. Daily 
routine ran smoothly in the old grooves. The domes- 
tic atmosphere suffered no change. Master and slave, 
whites and blacks, were what they had always been. 
If any of our negroes ever thought of freedom, we 
had no suspicion of the fact. We took no precau- 
tions: we saw nothing to awaken distrust. Those 
who toiled and those who rested went the usual 
rounds. 

One day I saw a squad of men on horseback rid- 
ing into the field where the overseer was with the 
hands. Pretty soon they all rode to a tree near by; 
and it was not long before I saw them galloping 
around the tree in a wide circle. I could hear shouts 
from the riders — shouts mingled with laughter. 
Round and round they sped, full speed, for a quarter 
of an hour. Such a queer caper I had never before 
witnessed, and I stood there looking at it, lost in 
wonder. They looked like a lot of lunatics out for 
recreation and fresh air. 

[ 79 ] 


BETHANY 


At length, with a final hubbub and uproarious 
laughing, the mounted squad rode off, leaving the 
overseer, alive and well, where he had been before 
the lunatics arrived. Immensely relieved, I ran to 
mother, and asked what on earth it all meant. 

Oh, it was just a gander-pulling,” she said, in 
tones of disgust. I suppose you know what a gander- 
pulling was. A lot of wild fellows would grease 
the neck and head of a gander, hang him to a high 
limb by the feet, and ride as fast as horses could go, 
around the tree and under the limb, each horseman 
taking a pull at the gander’s head as he galloped past. 
The hero of the game, the winner of the stakes, was 
the fellow who finally pulled the gander’s head off. 

Yet, while life on the old homestead followed its 
former channel, and the raging storm in the great 
world beyond did not beat in upon our heads, this was 
mainly because my grandfather was a man of such 
moderate views and conservative character. He was 
not the man to get excited over politics. He had 
no taste for public affairs. Neither would he argue 
and wrangle over any question political or religious. 
He was a farmer; and nothing more. To be suc- 
cessful in managing the plantation, satisfied him 
fully: he had no other ambition. 

But the people around us were no longer the same. 
Even from the Big Hoad one caught snatches of con- 
versation, pitched to a high, angry tone, as travelers 
talked public affairs to one another. At the post- 
[ 80 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 

offices, at street corners, in hotels and barrooms, at 
the blacksmith-shop and grist-mill, at the court- 
houses and the churches^ — at all places where men 
met for business or for pleasure there was a constantly 
growing disposition to talk excitedly on politics. 
Every visitor who dropped in at our home, to get 
dinner or spend the night, was full of political news 
and passion. And it would he the greatest mistake 
in the world to believe that the slave-owners were 
especially noisy and angry. They were not. Some 
of the hottest abuse of the North, some of the bit- 
terest cursing of the d d Yankees,’’ came 

from men who had never owned a slave. More than 
that, some of the extremists were men whose fathers, 
men of the North, had settled here, not many years 
before. 

You might suppose that the leading note of all 
the indignation of the South was, They want to take 
our niggers away from us,” but it wasn’t. I never 
heard anybody put it that way, except as incidental 
to the main grievance, which was this : They are 

trying to run over us. They have broken the con- 
tract, have set aside the Constitution, have nullified 
the law, have defied the Supreme Court, have been 
trying for years to stir up the niggers to make war 
on us, have organized to steal niggers and run them 
off to Canada, have armed crazy men like old John 
Brown and sent them among us to commence a slave 
insurrection — an insurrection which means burning 
7 [81 ] 


BETHANY 


homes and violated mothers, wives, and daughters! 
We will die before we will let the South be made 
another San Domingo ! ” 

Fancy pictures had been painted of the baronial 
state in which Southern planters lived : their negroes 
had been compared to the retinue of European lords; 
the gentry of the South were described as haughty, 
domineering, cruelly despising the poor whites who 
owned no slaves ; and our treatment of the slaves was 
represented as shockingly barbarous. Virulent and 
persistent denunciation of the Southern Aristoc- 
racy,” the rapid spread of organizations pledged to 
liberate the blacks even though the Union had to 
be disrupted in order to do it, appeals to a higher 
law ” than that which had been agreed on as supreme, 
and which had been consecrated by oaths as solemn 
as men can take, gave to the whole abolition move- 
ment the appearance of being more of a crusade 
against the South than of a sincere humanitarian 
attempt at reform. The whole debate degenerated 
into terrible invectives, not of slavery, but of the 
South. Our men were insolent slave-drivers,” living 
in kingly state and amassing untold wealth. Thus 
jealousy, and the malicious desire to pull down 
were appealed to, and class-hatred summoned to the 
field. Southern sympathizers living in the North 
wrote frequently of the constant, tremendous, and 
increasingly successful efforts being made to organize 
the one section against the other on the basis of sec- 
[ 83 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 


tional hatred. A current watchword at the North 
illustrated the feeling: It is war between the North 
and the South.’’ 

There are men who write books to prove that 
the French revolution was the work of a minority, 
and that the war of the American Revolution was the 
triumph of not much more than half the American 
people. Authors of that particular kind may pub- 
lish books to prove that the slave-owners forced the 
South into secession ; but authors who think, as 
well as write, will know better. It is true that 
during the later dreary years of the Civil War 
the saying became current, This is a rich man’s 
quarrel and a poor man’s fight,” but the men who 
said it probably knew that all wars present that 
feature. The poor men were the first to volunteer, 
fought the hardest, and were the last to give up. 
And upon them, when they volunteered, was no 
slave-holding compulsion of any sort. Southern 
Rights ” was the slogan — the rights which had been 
guaranteed to our fathers when they gave up the 
Old Confederation and went into the new compact 
of 1789. 

Only the echoes of the great political battle of 
1860 reached our remote farmhouse. Grandfather 
would drive out to Bethany, get his Augusta Chrour 
icle and Sentinel, converse with neighbors and 
friends who were sure to be there, and return in 
time for dinner, when he would tell us the news. In 
[ 83 ] 


BETHANY 


a dim way we saw the war of elements that was going 
on. The old man’s face — worn into furrows by 
many a grief, much toil, and sixty-five years — ^be- 
came very gloomy. Every time that Wilson drove 
him out to Bethany, and I caught sight of them 
coming back along the Big Hoad, it seemed to me 
that my grandfather’s head drooped lower. 

I remember that it was a perfect day in the spring 
of 1860 — a day upon which the Southern sun was 
writing a poem in every field, wreathing it in blos- 
soms, and setting it to the music of rapturous birds 
— a day upon which the odor of the freshly turned 
furrow was almost as sweet as the vagrant perfume 
of the yellow jessamine — and not a cloud dimmed the 
sky — when neighbor Morris, on his way home from 
town, halted at our front gate, and, while old Buck 
barked with idiotic energy, shouted these words to 
my grandfather : The Chaelestoh Cohventioh 

HAS BUSTED ALL TO HELL ! ” 

Thereby hangs a tale, and a very woful tale. 

The Democratic party was the majority party in 
the United States. At the last Presidential election it 
had elected Buchanan President. But it had devel- 
oped factions. Not only was there a bitter feud be- 
tween Northern Democrats and Southern Democrats, 
but there were wide and deep differences dividing 
Southern Democrats, as well. The South had lost one 
great opportunity when it failed to support Webster 
in 1852. In failing to support Stephen A. Douglas 
[ 84 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 


in 1856 it is probable that another great opportunity 
was lost. Douglas was a Western man, and bis 
nomination would have meant a political Union of 
South and West — both agricultural sections where 
Democratic principles are as natural as Federalist 
principles are to the North and East. Had Douglas 
been supported by the Democrats of the South and 
West, they could have elected him, and thus escaped 
their degrading connection with Aaron Burr’s Tam- 
many Society. 

It was not so ordered. Douglas could not go 
the whole hog” with the Southern leaders without 
losing his political life in Illinois; he very naturally 
refused to commit suicide ; ’ and the Southern 
Democrats, led by extremists, refused to accept 
him. 

In the van, now, stood William L. Yancey, of 
Alabama, head and shoulders above all the leaders 
of the South. He had taken the position, once so 
dear to the Massachusetts Puritans, that slavery was 
right, sanctioned by Holy Writ, justified by the laws 
of nature, vindicated by the practise of nations from 
the remotest ages. He contended that there never 
should have been any compromise on the subject. 
All the perils and the evils of the situation had come 
upon us because of these compromises. We must 
reject all half-way measures, repudiate trimmers 
and time-servers, insist upon our right to carry our 
slave-property wherever we pleased, and insist upon 
[ 85 ] 


BETHANY 


the enforcement of the fugitive slave law. There 
was but one alternative — secession. 

Yancey had carried Alabama on his distinctive 
platform; and he had been making speeches on the 
same line in other states — ^long speeches, some of 
them lasting four hours, which worked up his mon- 
ster meetings into the wildest enthusiasm. 

Now came the crisis. The great Democratic party 
was to hold its national convention in Charleston — 
the hotbed of radicalism in the South. Could the 
party be kept together? Could Democrats of the 
North and South agree upon platforms or candi- 
dates? If so, they could elect the President, and the 
Union was safe. If the Democrats divided, the 
Kepublicans would probably win, and in that event 
secession was almost certain, for the Southern leaders 
had already declared that they would not submit to 
a President pledged against the South. 

Never, therefore, was the assembling of a political 
body awaited with more concern than that which 
met in Charleston in April, 1860. 

Yancey was a delegate, and, before the conven- 
tion met, he had been making speeches in South 
Carolina. Either this was a clear case of carrying 
coals to Newcastle, or it proves that the Yancey 
platform was considered extreme even by South 
Carolina — the Hotspur of the Union. 

The Douglas men were there in force, intensely 
eager to have their chief nominated, but painfully 
[ 86 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 


conscious of the fact that if he should be placed 
upon the Yancey platform it would kill him in the 
North. With Abraham Lincoln already struggling 
with him for dear life, in Illinois, it would have been 
madness to give that shrewd manipulator, and hard- 
hitter, any more advantage. Rarely has an ambi- 
tious man been placed in a position so tantalizing 
as that of Douglas in 1860. The long-sought prize, 
the splendid reward of agonizing labor and persever- 
ance and management, was at last within his grasp 
— if he could only hold his party together. How 
the Little Giant,” whose militant intellectuality 
fascinated even Harriet Beecher Stowe, must have 
ground his teeth, as he realized that fortune was 
mocking him! He had won the heart of the South 
by denouncing abolition methods, and by his virtual 
repeal of the so-called Missouri Compromise; but 
this had so weakened him with his own people that 
he had been compelled to advance the doctrine of 
squatter sovereignty to placate the North. In other 
words, he announced the principle that the people 
of a territory, prior to the adoption of a state con- 
stitution, could prohibit slavery. To a lot of squat- 
ters was given the power to do what Douglas him- 
self conceded that Congress could not do. Squatter 
sovereignty was so repulsive to the South that Doug- 
las became the object of the fiercest opposition upon 
the part of such radicals as William L. Yancey. 

Thus the Little Giant ” was tossed between the 
[87 1 


BETHANY 


horns of a cruel dilemma: if he adhered to squatter 
sovereignty he lost the South; if he did not cling 
to it boldly, and aggressively, he lost the North. 
Verily, he was between the devil and the deep sea. 

Bitterest among the personal foes of Douglas, 
within the ranks of his own party, was James 
Buchanan, the President. The Little Giant ” 
had antagonized the administration policy in Kansas, 
and Buchanan’s wrath had led him into several 
stormy interviews with his rebellious lieutenant. 

Sir, if you oppose the administration you will 
be crushed,” said Buchanan. 

“You forget that Andrew Jackson is dead,” 
sneered Douglas, and they parted angrily. 

The President, eager for revenge, had used all the 
strength of the administration to defeat the election 
of delegates favorable to the nomination of Douglas; 
and six hundred Democratic office-holders flocked to 
Charleston to talk and wire-work against the one 
great Democrat who might have been elected. 

Three Democratic members of the national Sen- 
ate, not delegates, attended the convention, so in- 
tense was the anxiety to keep down strife within the 
party. They were Bayard, Bright, and Slidell. 

While excited thousands were pouring into 
Charleston, packing the hotels, and filling the streets, 
these Democratic Senators laid their heads together 
to devise some plan by which the glorious old party 
of Jefferson and Jackson might be saved from ruin. 

[ 88 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 

Among the delegates was the son of President 
Zachary Taylor — General “ Dick ” Taylor, of Louisi- 
ana, a man of rare mental gifts, brother-in-law to 
Jefferson Davis. 

The Senators sent for Taylor, and the result of 
the conference was that he went out to seek William 
L. Yancey. It was felt that the Alabama leader 
held in his hand the key to the situation. At his 
instance, his state had instructed her delegates to 
withdraw from the Charleston convention if the 
Alabama platform were not adopted. The Demo- 
cratic Senators felt convinced that such a platform 
would mean death to the party in the North. They 
convinced Taylor, but could they convince Yancey? 
He came to their room, listened to what they had to 
say, and was deeply impressed. He agreed to go 
out and get the Alabama delegation together and to 
use all his influence to prevail upon them to agree to 
concessions. While he went forth into the night 
to seek his colleagues, the Senators and Taylor 
awaited, anxiously, for his return. Hour after hour 
passed, midnight came and went, and still they 
waited, painfully conscious of the tremendous results 
depending upon the efforts of Yancey. 

A child starts a Are which all the men on earth 
can not put out: one man raises a storm which 
no human power can control. Yancey had armed 
the furies, and now they scorned him ! It was almost 
daybreak when he at length came back to the room 
[ 89 ] 


BETHANY 


where the Senators were waiting for him. The Ala- 
bama delegation had refused to disobey its instruc- 
tions; and, that the irony of fate might be complete 
in its perverse cruelty, the man who had now bearded 
Yancey and refused to abandon the instructions was 
he who had opposed them in the Alabama conven- 
tion and who had been routed by Yancey. A stub- 
born man, named Winston, had brought to naught 
the utmost efforts of the Democratic Senators, of 
General Taylor, and of Yancey himself. 

Nothing was now left but to fight the issue out in 
the Charleston convention. That body grappled 
with its task. The Douglas men drew first blood — 
Cushing, of Massachusetts, was made chairman. It 
was clear that the Little Giant ” had a decided 
majority, in spite of the Southern fire-eaters,” and 
the pie-counter cohorts of Buchanan. The excite- 
ment from the first was great, the crowds in attend- 
ance larger than the hall would hold. There were 
morning sessions and evening sessions; there were 
speeches in abundance; but not until the committee 
on platform should report, could anything decisive 
be done. Therefore, Yancey held himself in re- 
serve. 

At last the platform committee was ready, and it 
made two reports. The majority report was against 
Yancey. Meanwhile day after day was passing and 
there were no consoling signs of reconciliation be- 
tween the opposing factions. The rift seemed to 
[ 90 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 

widen, the antagonism to grow in rancor. Prayers 
were offered up in the churches that a spirit of har- 
mony might prevail. There was not sufficient faith, 
or something, in these prayers, and they were just 
so much wasted breath. 

Senator Pugh, of Ohio, was devoted to Douglas, 
and was a devoted Democrat: to see the torn condi- 
tion of the Democratic party filled him with grief. 
The old man was doing his level best to hold the 
factions together, to adjust some compromise upon 
which Democrats of all sections could stand. But, 
dear me! it is only the master spirit which can ride 
the storm, and Pugh was no master spirit. Ben 
Butler had spoken, Cushing had spoken, Pugh had 
spoken, dozens of others had spoken, and yet Yancey 
held back. 

At length one evening he was seen to rise from his 
seat and come to the front. Instantly the mighty 
throng felt the electric shock — the supreme moment 
had come! Almost as one person, the multitude 
sprang to its feet, women waving white handker- 
chiefs and men cheering at the top of their voices. 
It was the welcome of a people to its champion. He 
stood there waiting for silence, a smile on his lips, 
a glow of feeling in his face ; his tall, well-knit figure 
erect; his rather long black hair deepening the white 
of the manly, handsome countenance. At the sound 
of his voice a hush fell over the whole house, and 
in the simplest manner in the world, without flourish 
[91 ] 


BETHANY 


or formality, he began that historic speech. What 
a voice he had! It filled the vast hall with music. 
It rose and fell, rose and fell, with never a break in 
its perfect melody. 

Yancey was no ranter. He did not strike atti- 
tudes, make flails of his arms, or foam at the mouth, 
or stamp the floor. Like Sargent S. Prentiss, he 
stood in his place and delivered his message; and, 
like Prentiss, no man moved while he spoke. What 
was his charm? Where lay his power? He under- 
stood his subject; he imderstood the people; he used 
simple words; he used short, positive sentences. He 
went right to the minds and hearts of his hearers with 
reasoning they could follow and language which was 
their own. With thrilling power and passion he 
voiced a feeling which was common to almost every 
man in the South. His was the magnetism which 
makes dull men awake, which makes a dull subject 
glow with light, which lashes calm men into excite- 
ment, which makes cowards feel brave, which makes 
misers open their purses, which summons the passions 
to overwhelm the judgment. His heart was in 
every word he uttered ; and, hence, those words went 
straight to the hearts of others. Not a great lawyer, 
not a great thinker, not a great debater, not a great 
scholar, logician, or legislator, not a great political 
organizer, not even a great political leader — he was 
a great orator, one of the greatest this country ever 
knew. 


[92 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 


It was not his best speech that he made at Charles- 
ton, but it carried his magnificent audience to the 
highest pitch of enthusiasm. Nearly every sentence 
was greeted by applause. Time and again there 
were storms of cheering. When he finished the 
scene was tumultuous beyond description. 

The sum and substance of Yancey’s address was 
that all compromise on the slavery question was 
wrong. The system was right; it was entitled to 
the protection guaranteed it by the Constitution; 
and slave-owners must have equal rights in the 
territories. 

Senator Pugh replied to Yancey, spoke with deep 
feeling and at great length. The gist of what he 
said was this: 

You think that slavery is right and must be 
extended. You demand that we Northern Demo- 
crats shall agree that slavery be extended by being 
admitted into the territories. You misunderstand 
us: we will not do it, we will not do it.” 

When the vote came to be taken, Douglas had car- 
ried the day. Yancey was defeated. 

Twelve years before, when the Democratic con- 
vention in Baltimore had voted him down on this 
identical issue, he had walked out of the hall, fol- 
lowed by one faithful disciple. Now, when he stood 
up and gave the word for secession, the delegations 
of seven states were ready to troop at his heels. As 
events were to prove, the one disciple of 1848 
[ 93 ] 


BETHANY 

had multiplied till the whole South was Yan- 
cejized. 

Ah ! what consternation smote the convention 
then ! How the great Democratic party did reel and 
rock, passion-driven, tempest-tossed ! Not even after 
Yancey’s withdrawal could Douglas secure the 
nomination. The fool two-thirds rule, which has' 
wrecked so many conventions and defeated so fre- 
quently the will of the people, held the Little 
Giant ” in its remorseless grip. 

No nomination at all can be made at Charleston, 
and the disrupted party must try again at Baltimore. 

Everybody knows that the home of Alexander 
H. Stephens was called Liberty Hall. It was so 
named for the simple reason that it was free to all, 
open to all, hospitable to men of all degrees. Hich 
and poor were equally welcome to the good cheer 
at Liberty Hall. I sometimes thought that Mr. 
Stephens was heavily imposed upon by folks who 
abused his good nature; but that was his business, 
not mine. Many a lawyer attending court in Craw- 
fordville put up for the week with Mr. Stephens 
and burnt inexpensive incense to the great man, 
rather than pay a board bill at the old Williams Hotel. 
Tired judges who wanted a few days’ vacation, 
politicians who had axes to grind, unimportant idlers 
who found the back piazza at Liberty Hall the most 
comfortable place to loaf on, chance passers-by who 
[ 94 ] 



LIBERTY HALL, THE HOME OF ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS, IN GEORGIA. 








r* 




'*v.‘ 


f^‘ 


i»‘ 


rr\^ y 




■4 ■•< 




«■"■ I v 




>1 




llrf- 




V ’ «*• 






' u 








•» ^ 














> J •» 


’•^ J *rf 




s*w :; 






r^*> 


;c 


w, 






’*1^ 


w« 




5» 


*-v 




V •^ 


... ^ 


V- 


h:y * 


r« 


ii--.. 






•1 » 






>» 


I,- 


4 » 




^'.4 




M 


Iv^.' V jl'- "!!f 
. * 


> '> 


• 4 ^ 

-Tv . ■’■5 


1 


^ > 


. 4 ^ V 


<» ■ 




.'i 




■*•--,,7' •' •-■ •'.!?•.-<-•■ 

'Ibf ■' ♦ '* •■ bB"] "'^’^•>31''^ 


> ■’ 




K-v''“ ■ 


C J- i.- */ 

fea . ' ^‘'*1 <ri *w 

4 t » «#A 

■~M ^ ' ~ 


ih 




r 


% 


^>.i 


■,'i 


i ^ 








I . * f 


/N 


't. -♦j 


M-1 


5r-*! 


If 


iv 


i 






-y 




I. 


,v-= • 


« J V _ 






ti’ 








!%4' 




4- M 


r • 


> 4.-4 


JSI 




4k» 














1^ 


r.C'rf' • 


ik:i 




V* 


■'A^J 


^ « -t *4 


> V^-- 


,'■ V; 


it 


« 




^4 '•' 




>5, 


v 4 .^« 






% I 




1 ^. c^.. 


tK 





BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 


stopped in for a dinner or a nighPs lodging, made 
up a very considerable percentage of the ever-shift- 
ing, ever-abundant crowd at the plain, bachelor home 
of Alec ” Stephens. 

The people of his congressional district loved to 
call him the Pea-Ridge Boy,’^ and every one was 
familiar with his history from the time when some 
charitable friends educated him for the ministry. 
His humble birth, his poverty, his feeble, sickly 
physique, the splendid pluck and honesty of his char- 
acter, had won the admiring sympathy of all who 
knew the story; and to this day, at Crawford ville, 
the older men will refer to him simply as the 
hero.’^ 

Much better than many a warrior who has worn 
the title did this pale invalid deserve it. He had 
conquered bodily pain, had overcome the obstacles 
which poverty put in his way, had consecrated his 
whole talent to those things which were highest, 
noblest, most humane: had made charity the hand- 
maiden of his faith, and good deeds the gospel of 
his life. To make himself a Samaritan, Mr. Ste- 
phens had been compelled to subdue as fierce a tem- 
per as ever led a man to his ruin. Naturally, he was 
too intense, too thin-skinned, too irritable, too prone 
to violent resentments — slightly inclined to be jeal- 
ous, exacting, overbearing, spiteful. 

Gloriously he had struggled with these evil spirits; 
gloriously had he enslaved them. When you looked 
[ 95 ] 


BETHANY 


at his hands and saw the stiff, shrunken fingers, 
scarred across with pitiful seams, you needed little 
imagination to picture the scene at the National 
Hotel in Atlanta when Judge Cone, a large, brawny 
man, attacked Stephens with a knife and cut at his 
life. Brave Little Alec ” had only saved himself 
by clutching, with his bare fingers, the cruel blade. 
As you looked at the maimed hand, you remembered 
with admiration the unshrinking courage with which 
Stephens refused to take back what he had said, even 
with the knife at his throat; and you confessed to 
yourself, with regret, that the language Stephens had 
used against Judge Cone originally should never 
have been used. Later in his life Mr. Stephens 
would say to me — to warn me, I thought — that in 
the earlier stages of his career he had allowed his 
temper too much play. But by way of excuse, he 
said that he was a poor boy, with no influential 
friends, and that many a time he thought his oppo- 
nents looked down on him because of his poverty, 
and that they were trying unfairly to ^^run over 
him.^’ 

Those who have started from the bottom, as Lit- 
tle Alec” did, will know what that feeling is, and 
will look upon his errors of tongue and temper with 
infinite compassion. 

Crawfordville, in those days, was a drowsy little 
village, with no peculiar ear-marks, good or bad; 
and its individuality, so far as it had any, consisted 
[ 96 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 


in being the home of Alec ” Stephens. This, of 
itself, being a good deal more than most towns could 
boast of, Crawfordville rested satisfied. Religious 
convictions, in Crawfordville, were all settled, and 
had been so for quite a while. Political opinions were 
handed out from Liberty Hall; and the old ones 
lasted until Mr. Stephens had something else to say. 
As to literary opinions and economic contentions, 
there had been none in Crawfordville, since the 
tariff question had been threshed out and Sir Walter 
ScotPs authorship of the Waverley novels had been 
established. 

As fine a lot of people lived there and thereabouts 
as ever you saw — whole-souled, hearty yeomen, the 
backbone of the country. They loved Mr. Stephens 
dearly, and he them, and the only occasions upon 
which he ever denounced them in words of exceed- 
ing hotness were not those upon which the fellows 
who had borrowed small sums forgot to pay, but 
those upon which he would return from Congress 
and find that some vandal had cut down one of his 
lordly shade trees. My! How he would then rave 

and charge. The Goths! The Vandals! D d 

Barbarians ! What business did anybody have to cut 
that tree ? Last summer I gave off a church-lot out 
there on that side of my grove, but I told them not 
to cut down the trees. Why, that very oak which 
they destroyed was the tree that ^ Dick ’ Johnston 
and I used to sit under when we were boys, and 
8 [ 97 ] 


BETHANY 


there we have read together, talked and dreamed, a 
thousand times. I had rather somebody had stolen 
one of my lazy niggers than to have had them cut 
down that tree ! ” 

Dick ” Johnston, you must know, was Eichard 
Malcolm Johnston, who afterward moved to Balti- 
more, and became known as the author of Dukes- 
borough Tales,” “ Old Mark Langston,” and other 
stories of ante-bellum Southern life. Of all the men 
whom Mr. Stephens loved, Dick ” J ohnston was 
the one he loved best. To see them together was to 
see Alec ” Stephens wear his heart upon his sleeve. 
At such times he was as gentle as an amiable child, 
as warm-hearted and affectionate in his manner as 
the tenderest of women. 

In the spring of 1860 there was an unusual flow 
of visitors to Liberty Hall. Every time the passen- 
ger train stopped guests got off, and guests got on, 
as Mr. Stephenses friends came and went. 

A few days after the smash-up of the Democratic 
party at Charleston, it chanced that Colonel Nat 
Crawley, of Lincoln, and a young lawyer of the 
name of Butt were spending a few days with Mr. 
Stephens. There were several others, including 
Eichard Malcolm Johnston, and a stately old doctor 
of Augusta, named Shriner. 

The pastime which Mr. Stephens enjoyed most 
keenly was whist. His bodily infirmities cut him 
off from the usual manly recreations, and ever since 
[ 98 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 

one of his own gates had fallen upon him and seri- 
ously hurt him, he had relied more than ever upon 
whist. He considered it intellectual, a test of 
mental concentration and memory. He had studied 
the game scientifically and prided himself upon 
his mastery of it. He even wrote a treatise on whist 
for one of the encyclopedias. 

Alas, for human vanity! He really could not 
play the game much better than Napoleon could play 
chess ; and he was constantly being worsted by young 
fellows, who had tried to escape the contest upon the 
plea that they hardly knew the rules of the game. 
That very night Colonel Crawley, with Butt for 
partner, beat Mr. Stephens and Dick ” Johnston. 
Butt, with the luck of youth and confidence, held the 
most astonishing hands, and his audacity of play 
wrought havoc with every combination Mr. Ste^ 
phens could make. Like a silly young man, he was 
puffed up by his success, his face showed how good 
he felt ; he broke out into ill-timed guffaws of 
laughter; he talked across the board. Finally, he 
got to patronizing Ste>phens and Johnston, and ex- 
pressing sympathy with them for their hard luck. 
His foolish delight was so boisterous and crude that 
everybody in the room began to smile in spite of 
themselves. After the sixth rubber, in which the 
perverse run of the cards had again given the scien- 
tific players a ludicrous defeat. Butt, who had no 
real sense of humor and no reverence, blurted out : 

[ 99 ] 


I. ofC. 


BETHANY 


Mr. Stephens, didn^t you write an article on 
^ How to Play Whist ’ ? ” In the laugh which fol- 
lowed Mr. Stephens joined as heartily as human 
nature would allow, and then said: Let’s adjourn 
to the piazza.” 

It was a pleasant night, the moon was shining, 
and the grand old trees which stood around Liberty 
Hall were hugely, vividly outlined against the sky. 
Mr. Stephens’s body-servant, Harry, placed the 
chairs, and the conversation drifted at once to 
politics. 

Alec, what will be the outcome of all this tur- 
moil ? ” asked J ohnston. 

Civil war,” responded Mr. Stephens promptly 
and decidedly, his mouth closing with a snap. 

Oh, no,” remonstrated Crawley, that can not 
be. There are too many interests at stake. We 
can’t afford to let the politicians drag us so far 
as that.” 

You will see,” answered Mr. Stephens. We 
came nearer to civil war a few years ago than you 
may be aware of.” 

You mean the Kansas trouble ? ” said Crawley. 

Yes. Armed bands of volunteers from the 
North poured into the West to meet armed bands of 
volunteers from the South. Each side toted guns 
for the other. WLat was that but civil war ? ” 

On a small scale it was,” admitted Crawley, 
but the wise men of both sides realized the danger 
[ 100 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 


in time and agreed upon a compromise. They must 
do the same thing again.’’ 

Compromise has been tried so often, and has so 
utterly failed to do more than postpone the inevi- 
table, that people no longer have the same faith in 
that policy. Such leaders as Yancey and Toombs 
and Rhett and Wigfall think the time has come to 
reject all compromise. Likewise such Northern 
leaders as Lincoln, Seward, Chandler, and Wade 
think the time has come to fight it out.” 

“ But the situation was equally threatening at the 
time of the Kansas trouble, you know,” urged 
Colonel Crawley. At that time Zach Chandler gave 
ten thousand dollars to the abolitionists to push the 
Kansas war.” 

Yes,” said J ohnston, and so mild a man as 
Ralph Waldo Emerson urged the Northern people to 
sell houses, land, apple-trees and all, to succor the 
belligerent anti-slavery men in the West. We know 
what succor meant. It meant Sharp’s rifies, as 
Henry Ward Beecher boldly declared.” 

Precisely ; and just such men as those were re- 
sponsible for the massacre of those settlers on Ossa- 
watamie Creek by old John Brown.” 

But the point I make,” insisted Crawley, is 
that compromise adjusted even those troubles, and 
that the same spirit of compromise will adjust 
these.” 

God grant it ! ” exclaimed Mr. Stephens. But 

[101 1 


BETHANY 


I do not hope for it. The people seem to he mad- 
dened with passion on both sides. They are blind 
to consequences. With Yancey Democrats it is 
‘ Eule or ruin.’ With the Black Eepublicans it is 
‘ Eule or ruin.’ ” 

But,” argued Crawley, “ the Eepublican plat- 
form says nothing against slavery in the old States. 
They claim that there is no purpose to interfere with 
slavery where it already exists. They contend that 
their opposition is to the spread of slavery into the 
territories.” 

“ Ah, Nat, that is a shallow subterfuge, a mask 
which will be thrown aside at the proper time. When 
the land-grabbing nations of the Old World reach out 
for a new province, do they at first lay claim to the 
land ? No. They suavely secure ‘ commercial priv- 
ileges,’ and behind these stalking horses come the 
soldiers with fixed bayonets. Why, the trick is at 
least as old as Edward the Fourth’s of England, who 
entered the country claiming, not the crown, but 
the hereditary private estate of his house. All the 
time he meant to seize the crown, and he got it.” 

I believe you are right,” said Johnston. It is 
incredible to me, that after all which has been said 
and done by the anti-slavery people of the North 
they should be content with the mere restriction of 
the system to the old States where it now exists.” 

Gentlemen ! ” cried Mr. Stephens solemnly, 
listen to me ! We are going to have war — the 
[ 102 ] 


BURST-UP AT CHARLESTON 


bloodiest in history. In less than twelve months men 
will be cutting each other’s throats ! ” 

With this he arose, said Good night ” to his 
friends, and retired to his room. 

Profoundly impressed, they remained on the 
piazza, continuing the conversation in low tones till 
a late hour in the night. They all agreed that one 
chance to stay the storm yet remained, and that was 
the state action of Georgia, the Empire State of the 
South.” It was understood that Mr. Stephens 
would attend the convention and use all of his efforts 
to keep Georgia from going out of the Union. It 
was certain that Ben Hill and Herschel V. Johnson 
would also do battle on the same side. If Georgia 
could be held back from secession there was hope 
yet that all national troubles might be compromised. 

It’s our last hope, and I fear that chances are 
against us. Toombs is a wheel-horse, and he will 
be there in all his strength,” remarked Johnston, 
as they separated to their rooms. 


[ 103 ] 


CHAPTEE V 


OUR LAST HOPE 

The summer of 1860 , as we knew it on the old 
homestead, differed little from those that had gone 
before. 

By this time Douglas had got a nomination from 
the moderate Democrats at Baltimore, and Herschel 
Y. Johnson of our State was running on the same 
ticket. 

Yancey’s wing of the party had nominated Breck- 
inridge of Kentucky, and Lane of Oregon. 

The Eepublicans had united on Abraham Lincoln. 
In the vast, complex field of American politics the 
battle was on, a battle second to none since the 
French Eevolution. What black passions were astir 
in that mighty conflict! How little did any of the 
candidates know what they were doing. Blind in- 
struments in the hands of elemental forces which 
they could neither measure nor comprehend, they 
were like children at play in a powder-house — or 
like somnambulists tampering with the foundations 
of a world’s sea-wall. 

The glorious old Democratic party of Jefferson 

[ 104 ] 


OUR LAST HOPE 


and Jackson had well-nigh crushed the life out of 
Hamilton’s creed. Federalism was at its last gasp. 
In spite of its subtle changes of form and name, 
which for a moment had deluded the people, in spite 
of such recruits as Henry Clay and Daniel Web- 
ster, in spite of the wily manipulators who had made 
political use of Andrew Jackson’s power and popu- 
larity by bringing him into collision with Calhoun — 
in spite of it all. Democracy had won its fight. The 
long day’s task was done. 

The protective principle had been put under foot 
and the tariff was one for revenue only ; the internal 
improvements system had received its death-blow 
and no longer vexed Congress with its greedy clam- 
ors; the sovereign power to create money had been 
taken from the banks, and the Government was lord 
of its own system of currency. 

Could Yancey and Breckinridge and Lincoln fore- 
see that they were tugging like blind Samsons at the 
very foundations of the nation’s weal ? Could they 
realize that back of the honest Abolitionist was the 
implacable Federalist, groping for the levers of po- 
litical power? Was it within human penetration to 
see that slavery was the least of the issues depend- 
ent upon this fatal campaign ? 

Looking down the avenue of time and catching a 
clear view of the results — a million men slaughtered, 
accumulated prosperity swept away by the hundreds 
of millions, public morals debauched, labor systems 
[ 105 ] 


BETHANY 


revolutionized, corporations enthroned, the public 
treasury handed over to the service of the hanks, 
the national credit farmed out to a privileged class, 
tariff laws made just as protected interests dictate, 
the government kept in debt in order that there may 
be bonds in which untaxed wealth shall escape all bur- 
dens of government, tens of millions of the annual 
taxes of the people poured into the pockets of cor- 
ruptionists under the pretense of making internal 
improvements, seeds of unquenchable hatred sown 
between the two races and the two sections which, 
like the fabled dragon^s teeth, are forever bearing 
their crops of armed men. 

Did Yancey see this? Did Lincoln see it? Did 
the Sewards and the Beechers, the Garrisons and the 
Gerrit Smiths, the Whittiers and the Sumners, re- 
alize that in their blind methods of striking the 
shackles off the slave they would rivet the chains 
upon unborn millions of the white race, change the 
very nature of the republic, put the scepter into the 
hands of the militant, law-defying Hamiltonianism, 
and hurl our Government by resistless evolution 
toward that old, old gulf which has swallowed up 
every republic known to history — centralism — ^with 
its class-law, its despotism of the few, its subordina- 
tion of the civilian to the soldier ? 

Several times during the summer of 1860, my 
grandfather attended barbecues where political 
speeches were made to large crowds. The extremists 
[ 106 ] 


OUR LAST HOPE 


were gaining ground, but there was many a thousand 

true blue ” Democrats who thought secession talk 
premature. Toombs himself made a great speech in 
Augusta in which he advised conservatism and in- 
timated his willingness to accept a fair compromise. 
A letter of his to the same effect was circulated, 
to the indignation of certain fire-eaters, who called 
him Traitor,’’ and spoke of voting him a tin 
sword. 

One day, after he had finished reading the news- 
papers, I heard grandfather say: 

The Democrats have split all to pieces ; our 
leaders are fighting one another as hard as they 
ought to fight Abe Lincoln, and it begins to look like 
we’ll lose the election.” 

ITow, why should the loss of an election he spoken 
of as though it meant the crack of doom ? I learned 
why, soon enough. If Lincoln should be elected, it 
would be the first time that a President had been 
chosen on purely sectional lines, virtually committed 
to the making of war upon what the South regarded 
as her reserved rights under the Constitution. In 
other words, Lincoln’s election would mean to the 
South all of the previous wrongs of which she com- 
plained had been officially sanctioned, that the cru- 
sade against her was to be legalized, and the home 
rule principle stamped out. 

We waited anxiously and then came the news that 
Lincoln had won. Every eye watched what was 
[107 ] 


BETHANY 


going on at Washington, every ear strained to catch 
the faintest sound from Congress. 

Lincoln’s inaugural read well, and my grand- 
father’s voice trembled with emotion as he repeated 
the beautiful lines in which the new President 
pleaded for brotherly love, for harmony, for the 
Union. But he was afraid that Mr. Lincoln would, 
after all, find himself compelled to go with the ex- 
tremists who had elected him. The inaugural was 
vaguely sweet, but the creed of the radicals who had 
placed him in power was definitely bitter, and be- 
tween the vague inaugural and the definite party 
creed there was a confiict which gave rise to fears. 
The one was rhetoric, the other was set purpose. 
The appeal for harmony was the voice of one man, 
the war-cry which threatened the Supreme Court, 
the Constitution, and the domestic peace of the South 
was the roar of a mighty multitude, organized to do 
the very thing that the President said we need not 
fear, and already fiushed with victory in the prelim- 
inary encounter. 

We did not then know that Lincoln had set his 
face against Compromise, had opposed the proposi- 
tion to settle the whole controversy by restoring and 
extending the old Missouri Compromise line. The 
whole weight of his influence as President-elect had 
been thrown against the Peace Congress and against 
the Crittenden movement in the Senate. The South- 
ern Senators had declared their willingness to com- 
[ 108 ] 


OUR LAST HOPE 


promise on the basis of the old Missouri line, and 
had Mr. Lincoln lifted a finger in favor of that prop- 
osition, Thurlow Weed and Seward could have put 
it through. 

Reading the newspapers day by day, we tried to 
keep track of events. We followed the attempts 
made in Congress to save the Constitution and the 
Union. We saw all these efforts fail. Reader, we 
stood at the parting of the ways — Peace and pros- 
perity upon the one hand. War and unmeasured 
calamities upon the other. Let us, for the sake of 
truth and justice, see what was done to avert the 
awful struggle which drenched the continent in 
blood.- 

Of the public domain there were 1,200,000 square 
miles. By- the Crittenden Compromise, the South- 
ern men offered to surrender 900,000 square miles 
of this territory. Slavery should never enter there. 
In the remaining 300,000 square miles, the people 
should decide whether the State should be free or 
slave when they formed their State Constitution. 

Who offered this compromise ? Democrats of the 
North and the South. Who rejected it? The Re- 
publicans. Not one member of that party would 
vote for it when it came to a test in the House. 

Says S. S. Cox, a Northern man, and a prominent 
Congressional actor in those exciting scenes : 

The truth is, there was nothing but sneers and 
skepticism from the Republicans at any settlement. 

[ 109 ] 


BETHANY 


They broke down every proposition. They took the 
elements of conciliation out of the Peace Congress 
before it assembled. Senators Harlan and Chandler 
were especialy active in preparing the convention 
for a failure. If every Southern man and Northern 
Democrat had voted for the proposition, it would 
have required some nine Republicans for the requi- 
site two-thirds. Where were they ? Dreaming with 
Mr. Seward of a sixty days’ struggle, or arranging 
for the patronage of the Administration.” 

Toombs did not himself vote for the Crittenden 
Compromise in the famous Committee of Thirteen, 
but he emphatically declared he would do so if the 
Republicans would. 

Mr. Toombs,” asked Senator Crittenden, “ will 
this compromise satisfy you ? ” 

Not by a d d sight! ” exclaimed the impul- 

sive Georgian, but my state will accept it, and I 
will follow my state to hell 1 ” 

He had told Stephen A. Douglas that if the Crit- 
tenden Compromise was adopted by the committee, 
the disunion movement in Georgia would be de- 
feated by 40,000 votes. But the Republicans re- 
fused to support the measure; and Toombs tele- 
graphed to the people of Georgia that they must now 
choose between secession and dishonorable submis- 
sion to the North. 

God! how the waves did toss and tumble then! 
Madness raged throughout the State, the madness of 

[ 110 ] 


OUR LAST HOPE 

wrath, uncertainty, doubts, and fears. What should 
be done? Submit and wait, or act upon the threats 
already made — taking it for granted that the IN’orth 
would do what her dominant political leaders had 
said they would do ? 

In the midst of the turmoil the convention met at 
Milledgeville — the convention which had been or- 
dered by a popular vote. 

Toombs had delivered his farewell address to the 
National Senate, had come home, and was now a 
delegate to the convention: so were Stephens, Ben 
Hill, and Herschel V. J ohnson, who had been on the 
Presidential ticket with Stephen A. Douglas. Be- 
sides these, came from all parts of the state the best 
men we could boast. 

Judging from the popular vote, and by the final 
vote in the convention itself, you might suppose that 
nearly half the voters of Georgia sided with the 
Horth, but such is not the case. Hine-tenths of 
those who voted against secession agreed that the 
South had the right to go out of the Union, and. be- 
lieved that the time would soon come when in self- 
defense she must do so, but they thought that seces- 
sion then was premature. That, and no more than 
that, was meant by the negative votes of Georgia on 
the issue of secession in 1860 and 1861. Even so 
strong a Union man as Mr. Stephens, addressing the 
Georgia Legislature against secession, declared that 
unless the Horthem States, which had nullified the 
[111 ] 


BETHANY 


Constitution by refusing to obey tbe Fugitive Slave 
laws, would give guarantees to reverse their policy 
and respect those laws, the South should go out of 
the Union because of that persistent breach of the 
contract upon which it had been formed. 

Now, who believed that those Northern States 
were going to repeal their Personal Liberty bills, 
and reverse themselves on the Fugitive Slave ques- 
tion? 

Nobody. Therefore, secession, even in the eyes of 
the followers of Stephens, was a right which sooner 
or later must be resorted to in self-defense. Power- 
ful as were the speeches of Ben Hill and Alec Ste- 
phens, the structural weakness in their argument 
was but too apparent. They all agreed with Toombs 
that the North had broken the contract; they all 
agreed that secession was the right of each state, 
and they all agreed that if the North did not alter 
her course disruption of the Union was inevitable. 

Who could be made to believe that the North 
would alter her course? There^s where Toombs 
smote them hip and thigh. 

As to the fact that Northern Legislatures had 
passed and enforced acts which nullified the Fugi- 
tive Slave law of the Constitution and of Congress, 
no one disputed. 

As to the right of secession, no one denied it. It 
had been put forward time and again by the North, 
first in 1798 when she threatened to secede if the 

[ 112 1 


OUR LAST HOPE 


Mississippi was opened to navigation, her fear be- 
ing that the South would reap all the benefit; 
second, when Jefferson made the Louisiana Pur- 
chase, which doubled the area of the republic ; 
third, when Jefferson laid the Embargo and the 
War of 1812 followed; fourth, when the annexa- 
tion of Texas was proposed — Truman Smith and 
John Quincy Adams being the spokesmen of 'New 
England in her declared purpose to exercise the 
right of secession. 

Then, again, Daniel Webster, who had contended 
against Hayne that the Constitution was not a com- 
pact, had been silenced later when he debated the 
same question with Calhoun; and had, later still, 
made a speech at Capon Springs in Virginia, in 
which he declared that the Constitution was a com- 
pact and that the refusal of certain E'orthern States 
to obey the fugitive slave laws was a breach of that 
contract, and that a breach of the contract by one 
of the parties released all. 

On Dec. 9, 1814, Mr. Webster made in Congress 
as bold a speech for N^ullification and State-Rights 
as Calhoun himself could have made ; at Capon 
Springs he had returned to his first love. 

l^either of these two speeches appear in the col- 
lections published as Webster’s Speeches,” but he 
made them, nevertheless. 

With Adams, Webster, and Calhoun harmonized 
in favor of secession, it did seem that the principle 
9 [ 113 ] 


BETHANY 


must be sound. Anyhow, that’s the way it appeared 
to us then; and our folks acted upon it in good 
faith. Even the text-books used at West Point 
Military Academy down to 1840 taught the right 
of secession. 

As to the expediency of secession there were, in- 
deed, vast differences of honest opinion throughout 
the South, differences which were never harmonized ; 
but there were two convictions which carried the day 
for immediate disunion. One of these was that the 
South could make better terms out of the Union than 
within it. The other was that vital, irreconcilable 
differences existed between the South and the North 
on the question of the powers of Congress under the 
Constitution, and upon the subject of the status of 
the negro. Our people foresaw that if Congress could 
usurp the power to emancipate the black man, it 
could, and probably would, go further in his behalf. 

The North, impelled partly by hatred of the South 
and partly by a mistaken philanthropy, would arm 
the negro with the ballot and otherwise try to legis- 
late him into equality with the whites. 

If any one should doubt that far-sighted appre- 
hension along this line had its powerful influence on 
the Southern whites then, let him read the speech 
which Mr. Stephens made to the Secession Conven- 
tion of Virginia in 1861. If this leaves anything to 
be desired, let him study the speeches of Toombs. 

Southern leaders were determined that the South 
[ 114 ] 


OUR LAST HOPE 


should not tamely submit to being ruled by a mon- 
grel race, by a coalition between the !Rorthem fa- 
natic and the ignorant negro; they believed that if 
the Abolitionists won their first step (emancipation), 
the second would follow, and that Southern civiliza- 
tion would be debauched and degraded. 

How seldom has this view of the case been con- 
sidered by those who abuse the South ! 

The speeches which Mr. Stephens made against 
immediate secession were great efforts — that before 
the Georgia Legislature in November, especially. 
The speeches of Ben Hill in the convention in Janu- 
ary were great efforts, but, so far as it went, the plea 
for the Union made by Herschel V. Johnson over- 
topped them all. 

Johnson was of massive build, ponderous in mind 
as well as in body. He was lazy, not easily aroused, 
but when he was aroused, a foeman worthy of any 
man’s steel. On such rare occasions there was a 
power in him that was colossal. 

At the Milledgeville Convention, in January, 
1861, he was in his prime. His very port and 
stature imposed respect, commanded attention, riv- 
eted interest. Those who saw him that day when he 
pleaded for the life of the Union of our fathers will 
never forget him. In the densely packed house, not 
a man stirred as this brave Georgian rose and came 
forward to do battle for his convictions. He had 
[ 115 ] 


BETHANY 


submitted a minority report, adverse to immediate 
secession. Ben Yancey, brother to William L. 
Yancey, had made the majority report, which sought 
to lead Georgia in the wake of South Carolina, which 
had already seceded. Yancey spoke first, and for 
the majority report Then came Johnson. It was 
evident that he was intensely excited; for once, he 
was profoundly agitated. All his sluggishness had 
dropped from him, and he stood at bay, full of the 
fire of combat. He felt that he stood on the weaker 
side, but he had the look of a man who gathers up all 
his strength to strike, and to fight it out, though 
he dies. 

Lifting his right arm and clenched fist above his 
head, his broad chest heaving with suppressed ex- 
citement, he cast his eyes all round the convention, 
and slowly said : 

I am a Democrat ! ” 

The words had meaning in those days: they had 
not been trod in the mire and filth of the foulest po- 
litical methods that ever sickened decent men. They 
did not then smell of Tammany-ism. 

I am a Democrat ! ” 

The hand was clenched above the head, the eyes 
were blazing, the voice was vibrating with the in- 
tensity of the man’s passion. There was a pause, just 
for a moment, and then the house trembled with a 
spontaneous burst of applause. 

Johnson waited till there was dead silence, then 
[ 116 ] 


N 


OUR LAST HOPE 


he brought his hands together in front of him, and, 
dashing them apart, he said, alluding to Yancey’s 
speech, I have been compared to a lion. Would 
that I were a lion that I might tear away from your 
vision this monstrous network of error which has 
been spread out before you ! ” 

Again the convention burst into loud applause. 
Johnson stood with heaving chest, waiting till all 
was still, and then the thunder of his voice was 
heard again. 

I have been compared to an eagle. Would that 
I were an eagle that I might bear your thoughts up- 
ward upon my wings, and bathe them in the pure 
sunlight of reason.” 

Again the house rocked with applause. Begin- 
nings count for much, and it was clear that Johnson 
had made a good one. Already he seemed to be mas- 
tering his surroundings. Step by step, he strode 
forward with the might of a giant. 

Oh, madmen of the South ! What is it you are 
about to do ? Are you blind that you do not see that 
you are laying mines under the very foundations of 
constitutional government ? Kings, priests, aris- 
tocrats all over the world are watching us with devil- 
ish glee, and, from our wild destructiveness, are 
building new foundations for the infamous dogmas 
of ‘ Divine right ! ’ 

I am a Democrat ! What are you ? 

I want to hold the vantage-ground that Democ- 
[ 117 ] 


BETHANY 


racy has torn from Federalism after the heroic strug- 
gles of a hundred years. You, infatuated and blind, 
would risk that priceless heritage and expose it to 
all the fury of the storm! For a century your fa- 
thers resisted centralism, imperialism, class-rule. 
The Revolutionary War was fought that Democracy 
might reign in the New World. Its victory was 
hardly assured before designing men were trying to 
re-enthrone the system which had been abolished. 
Monarchist at heart, hating, fearing, despising the 
people, Alexander Hamilton made himself the 
mouth-piece of the Toryism of America, just as 
Canning and Disraeli have done in Great Britain. 
Democracy, triumphant upon the battle-fields of the 
Revolutionary War, found itself threatened in the 
very fiush of its victory by the cunning politicians 
who wrote the laws. The pen of the legislator took 
from the people what the sword of the soldier had 
won. English models were copied, English class-rule 
was introduced, English aristocracy was aped, Eng- 
lish contempt for Democracy was preached and prac- 
tised. Old foes came back with new faces. The eter- 
nal enemies to popular liberties, costumed afresh, 
were doing the old, old work of tyranny, legalized 
wrong, official robbery. With the cry of Liberty and 
Equality on their lips, the henchmen of Hamilton 
systematized the spoliation of the weak by the strong. 
Tariffs, banks, bonds, funding, implied powers, gen- 
eral welfare — ^what were they but means to the end ? 

[ 118 ] 


OUR LAST HOPE 


And what was the end aimed at ? To legislate money 
out of the pocket of one man into that of another. To 
legislate wealth from one class to another. To fatten 
one section at the expense of another. 

Oh, blind fanatics of the South ! where has your 
memory gone? Have you forgotten the history of 
your past ? Did not a Southern statesman lead the 
revolt of the masses when, at the close of the last cen- 
tury, the people drove from power the N^ew England 
disciples of Hamilton, who had banished citizens for 
being Democrats, imprisoned citizens for being Dem- 
ocrats, and were putting into practise at Washington 
the flunkeyism and the monkeyism of royalty ? All 
honor to the immortal Jefferson ! ” 

Here there was another whirlwind of applause. 
Men in their excitement rose from their seats, cheer- 
ing wildly. It was plain that Johnson had struck 
the right key. The fire-eaters looked pale and 
troubled. The orator’s action was superb — ^his ges- 
tures were powerful but not frantic, his voice was 
tremendously full with the tremble of passion in its 
roar, but not hysterical, not extravagant; and over 
the large manly face, with its high forehead, there 
was the play of consuming fires. 

I am a Democrat ! Does that mean anything to 
you ? What does it mean to me ? It means that I 
would die with a martyr’s joy to keep within the 
body of this republic the spirit which our fathers 
breathed into it! Have you forgotten the warnings 
[ 119 ] 


BETHANY 


of Southern statesmen? Have the names of Patrick 
Henry and George Mason and John Randolph lost 
their meaning? Are you no longer of the school of 
Jefferson? He told you never to secede — is your 
wisdom greater than his ? 

Why abandon the vantage-ground of Democ- 
racy? Why jeopardize the fruits of so many vic- 
tories? Why lift anchor when our cargo, already 
safe in harbor, is so precious, and risk both ship and 
cargo to the unmeasured tempest that is to beat upon 
shoreless seas ? 

What are those victories of Democracy ? What 
are the trophies your fathers won ? 

They destroyed the protective principle in spite 
of Henry Clay and Daniel Webster. The ^ tariff of 
abominations ’ was burned up, root and branch. In 
the last tariff act, so complete was the victory of the 
revenue principle that South Carolina voted with 
Massachusetts. The lion and the lamb lay down to- 
gether. 

National banks are a thing, of the past. The 
nation makes and controls its own currency. No 
partnership exists between the national treasury and 
the greedy capitalists who want special favors. No 
bond system holds the Government down in order that 
non-taxpayers may pick its pockets. The Hamilton 
policy — deep as conspiracy, black as hell — ^was to 
keep the Government in debt. 

“ It remained for Democracy to cancel every bond, 
[ 120 ] 


OUR LAST HOPE 


pay the last dollar of the debt, and send hack the 
surplus to the states where it belonged. Praise he 
forever to the lion-like Andrew Jackson! ” 

The scene at this point beggars description. The 
hypnotic spell of the orator was complete. The audi- 
ence swayed as he swayed, heads leaned backward or 
forward with the movement of his OAvn. The feel- 
ings which glowed in his face found reflection in 
theirs. !Never was oratorical triumph more perfect. 
Could he hold out? The tension to which he was 
wound was something phenomenal — could mind or 
body stand it ? 

I am a Democrat ! Every principle of the glo- 
rious old party is as dear to my heart as the life- 
blood that throbs in these veins. Every triumph 
won by our fathers in the heroic struggles of the 
past is sacred in my eyes. Idolater, bent before 
graven image at lonely wayside shrine, was never 
more rapt in his devotions than I in the worship of 
the creed of my fathers. Oh, my countrymen ! Why 
imperil this sacred trust ? 

In the strife of sections your jewels will be lost. 
In the clash of arms Liberty's crown will be trampled 
in the dust. Under pretense of freeing the negro 
both whites and blacks will be commercially en- 
slaved. There will be a triumph of the strongest. 
Either the Horth or the South will win a victory — 
but no matter which wins, it will be a victory which 
reeks with blood, and the car of triumph in which 
[ 121 ] 


BETHANY 


the conqueror rides will be followed up Capitol Hill 
by the enchained millions of the American masses. 
Class-rule will be entrenched as never before, and 
civil liberty as our Democratic forefathers knew it 
and fought for it will have left the world never to 
come again.” 

It was near noon when he had begun to speak. 
He had not proceeded more than thirty minutes be- 
fore he put his hand to his head and stopped. There 
was a breathless silence. 

My head pains me. I ask that the convention 
take a recess.” 

His opponents were only too glad to break the 
spell of that dangerous oratory. 

What happened to Johnson at dinner ? Did a cer- 
tain rampant fire-eater, dreading what might be the 
results of the continuation of such a speech, put 
stupefying drugs in a glass of whisky which John- 
son drank? Throughout the state ran such a story, 
and I have often heard the name of a certain bril- 
liant editor given as the man who doctored the liquor. 

By whatever means it happened, it did happen 
that when Johnson resumed the fioor in the afternoon 
he was in no condition to speak. To the crowd which 
packed the house this was not immediately appar- 
ent. Indeed, his first sentence sounded like a true 
refrain of the morning : I am planted on a rock 
and an earthquake can not move me ! ” 

There was a burst of applause. Johnson waited 
[ 122 ] 


OUR LAST HOPE 


until there was silence, and then repeated the sen- 
tence. Thrice, four times he said the same thing. 
Men looked at each other in pained astonishment. 
What was the matter ? 

The whole audience began to feel uncomfortable, 
anxious, nervous. Again the orator exclaimed, this 
time in a voice that was lifeless, dull, thick, almost 
stupid, as he swayed unsteadily on his legs : I am 
planted on a rock.” 

Sympathetic friends hastened to him, surround- 
ing him, and the orator, his laurels gone — ah, the 
pity of it ! — was led away. 

It seemed almost cruel when Henry R. Jackson 
sprang to his feet, and began a fire-eating speech, 
which swept all before it, with the taunt : 

The honorable gentleman has said many times 
that he was planted on a rock, and that an earth- 
quake could not move him. There let us leave him 
and indulge in the hope that, unlike Prometheus, no 
vulture will prey upon his vitals.” 

Secession was voted, the United States fiag over 
the capitol building was hauled down, and the colo- 
nial colors of Georgia, run up instead, were greeted 
with tremendous cheering. 

That night Ben Hill sat down and wrote to a 
friend : 

“ The deed is done. Georgia this day left the 
Union. Cannon have been firing and hells ringing. 
At this moment people are filling the streets vocif- 
[ 133 ] 


BETHANY 


erouslj shouting. A large torchlight procession is 
moving from house to house and calling out speakers. 
The resolution declaratory passed on yesterday, and 
similar scenes were enacted last night. The crowd 
called loudly for me, but my room was dark, my 
heart was sad, my tongue was silent. 

The most favored sons of freedom have written 
a page in history which despots will read to listening 
subjects for centuries to come to prove that the people 
are not capable of self-goveminent.^’ 


[ 124 ] 


^art Seconti 

A CHEROKEE ROSE 




I 




■ 




CHAPTEE I 


AT NELLIE ROBERTS’s HOME 

There is an old-fashioned frame house of two 
stories which stands, gray and dismal, back of a 
small grove of decaying oaks a few miles southward 
from Bethany. 

The public road runs not far from the front gate, 
and whenever I journey along this highway my eyes 
rest upon the disconsolate house, and my thoughts 
dwell on its past. 

The well, which is midway between the road and 
the gate, was used long ago by any thirsty traveler 
who had a mind to draw himself a bucket of water; 
and it is certain that one of the men who did so 
was Judah P. Benjamin, when, after the surren- 
der,” he was stealthily hurrying through Georgia to 
reach the coast and flee for safety to England. 

But my mind is not upon Judah P. Benjamin 
while I gaze upon the ancient house. My memory is 
at work with the scenes of times earlier than that, 
for this was the home of !N^ellie Koberts, the sweet- 
heart of my Uncle Ealph. 

There at that iron ring fastened to the tree his 

r m 1 


BETHANY 

horse has so often stood, pawing the ground and 
gnawing the bark, while his master pleaded his case 
within. 

On that piazza yonder they often sat at night, 
those two, and heard the katydids chatter in the oak, 
and the mocking-bird salute the moon. That weed- 
covered garden with the broken, moss-grown picket- 
fence was full of old-fashioned roses, and they loi- 
tered there together, while she gathered the flowers, 
many a time. 

The day before my Uncle Kalph went to the army 
he came here, to this memory-haunted place, fast- 
ened his bridle-rein to the iron ring, and rapidly went 
towards the door. Nellie must have seen him ap- 
proach, for she came out of the door, spoke to him 
with constraint, and led the way into the flower- 
garden, at some distance from the house, where there 
was a rude bench underneath a scraggy, gigantic 
cedar — a most dismal, solitary tree. 

But I am too fast. Let me go back a little and 
tell you more of my Uncle Kalph. 

You would have liked him — ^you could not have 
helped it. He was so frank, genial, and manly; he 
was so free and sociable in all his ways; he was so 
good to look at, with his blue eyes full of light, his 
freckled cheeks full of healthy color, his tall, 
straight, slender figure so full of life and strength. 
There was nobody on the place who did not like 
Uncle Kalph. The negroes were fond of him, and 
[ 138 ] 


1 





NELLIE ROBERTS’S HOME 

proud of him. Children took to him as soon as they 
came about him. Old Buck, the yard dog, seemed 
to have a special note of joy in his welcoming hark 
for Uncle Ralph. He loved horses. Uncle Ralph 
did, and excelled in all manly, out-of-door sports and 
recreations. To see him in the field with his gun and 
dog was a sight, a treat, so perfect was his handling 
of both dog and gun. Often I have seen him, out 
of sheer fulness and riot of vitality, take a running 
start and jump clear over his riding horse. He 
could stand on level ground in his stockings and 
jump thirty-three feet in three jumps. And Lord! 
how he could run ! There wasn’t a man on the place 
who could come anyways near to him in deer-like 
fleetness of foot. I am afraid he had been some- 
what wild — ^my uncle, I mean. He had the name of 
being fond of cards — seven-up and draw-poker : 
would bet on horse races and chicken fights: would 
ride miles to take part in a gander-pulling. Many a 
day when his old father thought he was at the Acad- 
emy bent over his books, his horse was hitched to the 
rack at the Double-Groceries, and he was carousing 
with a congenial lot of roysterers within. He was 
one of those men to \vhom liquor brings an excess of 
good humor, and we always knew when he had been 
drinking by his superfluous joviality. Sociable and 
gallant to a fault, I think he showed up to best ad- 
vantage at those country balls which the neighbors 
used to give at their homes, and where all the local 
10 [ 129 ] 


BETHANY 

beauty and chivalry would be assembled to dance the 
night away. 

To every such dance Uncle Kalph invariably 
went, for he enjoyed it, being popular, and being 
much in demand. He was that well-known person 
who is the life of the party.” The thing didn’t 
drag if Uncle Ealph was there. It couldn’t. He 
was so sunny and joyous and friendly that he would 
warm up the whole room. To the old negro fiddler 
he would sing out cheerily, Now, Uncle Turner, 
give us ^ The Arkansaw Traveler,’ ” and straight- 
way Ealph would go, not to the prettiest girl in the 
room, who was sure to have more partners than she 
wanted, but he would march up to the “ wall 
fiowers ” — the girls who were awkward and ugly 
and otherwise forlorn, and whose cheerless faces 
had begun to lower the temperature. He would 
bow, like the gallant country beau he was, to the 
ugliest girl on the bench, and would solicit the honor 
of her hand for the dance with as much eager polite- 
ness as if she were the belle of the ball. Gracious ! 
How the room would brighten! So much depends 
on the start, and such wonders can a little good- 
nature work in a mixed company. Not that Uncle 
Ealph’s highest enjoyment really consisted in danc- 
ing with the ugly girl. By no means. The first 
quadrille would hardly be done with before his eyes 
would be searching around the room for the prettiest 
girl present: and in the year 1860 that prettiest girl 
[ 130 ] 


NELLIE ROBERTS’S HOME 

was Nellie Roberts — the sweetest flower of the piney- 
woods. 

Where he first met her I do not know. In his 
riding back and forth, in his flying trips to com- 
shuckings, to log-rollings, to church-meetings, to 
dance-parties — somewhere or other, on some fated 
day, her tender, luminous eyes had looked into his, 
and he was her prisoner. All the girls he had ever 
known seemed as nothing beside her. All the im- 
pressions other women had made upon him were as 
nothing compared to what he felt as he looked upon 
her. He had been a warm-hearted, full-blooded boy, 
had romped with the girls, had kissed them in the 
license of certain plays and games — and had thought 
nothing of it, had carried away no lasting passion. 
Schoolboy fancies he had had, and he had sent and 
received love-letters and tokens. These fancies were 
great events while they lasted, but they did not last 
long. After the manner of all young men, he had 
imagined himself in love, when, in fact, he was 
swayed by mere preliminary inclinations. 

Time was passing. Uncle Ralph was no longer a 
boy ; he was twenty years old now, and with the com- 
ing of his passion for Nellie Roberts he seemed to 
shed his boyishness like a garment. All at once, he 
was a man, more serious, less inclined to mere frolic, 
less inclined to drink, more inclined to walk quietly by 
himself as though there was trouble on his mind. 
With Nellie Roberts his manner was different from 
[ 131 ] 


BETHANY 


what it was with other women. You could see that 
he looked up to her as to a superior being, a creature 
of a higher sphere. 

Indeed, she was not like the average girl. She stood 
in a class apart. In games where kissing was allowed 
she would not enter. She loved to dance, was full 
of the joy of youth, was a spirited figure on horse- 
back, took her share in all healthy recreations, but 
she stooped to no doubtful familiarities. Not that 
she was prudish, or distant, or supercilious. She 
gave herself no airs of conscious superiority. A 
sweeter expression than that on her face never car- 
ried pleasure into the lives of others, and an eye 
more kind, a smile more truly genial, a handshake 
more cordially warm, no woman ever possessed. But 
she won respect as she won friendship, and she had 
that rare gift of tact and disposition which takes its 
way to the higher plane without question and with- 
out leaving jealous resentments. 

Often when I looked at her, followed the quick, 
strong, graceful movement of her trim, elegant figure, 
caught the light of the violet eyes, radiant and soft, 
I would think to myself that here was one of those 
maidens for whom troubadours used to sing and 
errant knights to die. 

No wonder my Uncle Ralph was changed. No 
wonder he grew more steady and sober, and walked 
about with the air of a man who had something on 
his mind. He was in deep water. Uncle Ralph was. 

[ 133 ] 


NELLIE ROBERTS’S HOME 

There was the customary amount of gossip about 
the two young people^ — Nellie and her beau — and 
the usual differences of opinion as to whether they 
would marry. Everybody knew that he courted her, 
and that he worshiped the very ground she walked 
on. He himself made no secret of it. Why should 
he? Erank, bold, honest — ^why should he make ef- 
forts to conceal the fact that he was in love with the 
prettiest girl in the piney-woods ? Let morbid, shy, 
lank-haired milksops go off into the comer, mope and 
write pitiful verses, sigh like a furnace and culti- 
vate the moon. Not being a melancholy Jacques, 
nor a weak-minded imitation of Byron, Ralph never 
showed the least inclination to banish his manliness 
simply because he was in love. 

Pretty nearly every Sabbath he was with Nellie 
Roberts at some place or other — either at the church 
or Sunday-school, or her home. They met> also, at 
parties and picnics. It was evident that he was ac- 
ceptable company to her; but there were others be- 
sides himself with whom she rode, danced, conversed 
intimately, and received at her home. 

Did she prefer Uncle Ralph to all these ? 

In some manner it came to be understood in our 
home that the father and mother of the beautiful girl 
objected to Uncle Ralph. He had been too wild, too 
fond of whisky and cards, too often seen at horse- 
races and chicken-fights. Besides, he was too young 
and unsettled. Their daughter must not think of 
[133 ] 


BETHANY 

anything serious, so far as he was concerned. Not 
yet, at any rate. 

To what extent did the young lady share these 
views ? 

Uncle Ealph had probably felt encouraged, else he 
would not have hung on. But he was becoming rest- 
ive, impatient, deeply anxious to get something 
definite from the piney-woods belle. She had never 
coquetted with him — she had no levity in her char- 
acter — but there was a sweet maidenly reserve, an 
amiable imperative something which had always said 
to Uncle Ealph : Do not come across the line.’’ 

Thus matters stood between them in the spring of 
1861 . 

In that year the great deeps of Southern life were 
broken up. Waves of excitement and enthusiasm 
were running mountain high. The strident ha- 
rangues of agitators were beginning to be accom- 
panied by the blare of bugles. Flags were beginning 
to fiutter over the heads of marching lines. There 
was no gloom among the people, no signs of woe, no 
wails of regret. On the contrary there was exhilara- 
tion throughout the land. The clank of arms, the 
beat of drums, awakened universal joy. 

Does not the soul of a people more truly live in 
its songs than in its statute books ? Let any one who 
doubts that the Southern movement of 1861 was a 
revolt en masse to resist invasion, read the war-songs 
which then pealed forth. Sacred rights were en- 
[ 134 ] 


NELLIE ROBERTS’S HOME 


dangered, everything which makes national life 
worth living was at stake, and the elemental impulse 
which in all ages has aroused brave men to action, 
animated every volunteer who rallied to the flag. 

I have here on my table a ragged, battered volume, 
paper-covered, and printed by the West and John- 
ston house, of Richmond, Virginia, in 1862. . To 
know the real passions which then flred the South 
this old collection of war-poetry is more satisfactory 
than any history which mortal pen can write. 

Open its blurred, faded pages, and what meets 
your eye ? The same kind of spontaneous literature 
that burst forth in France during the era of her 
Revolution; the same that thrilled Germany as she 
strove to break the yoke of Napoleon; the same that 
awoke modern Greeks from the torpor of ages; the 
same which immortalized the patriotism of our 
grandsires in 1776. 

Resistance to tyrants, deflance to invaders,' revolt 
against threatened oppression, desperate determina- 
tion to preserve the integrity of Southern soil. South- 
ern institutions. Southern rights — ^that was the key- 
note of every song ! 

Under the impulse of flery declamation, impas- 
sioned music, and a common danger, almost every 
young, unmarried man in the South was swept off 
his feet. Even the students ran away from the 
schools and colleges to share the glory of battling 
for native land, and in the smiles and praises which 
[ 135 ] 


BETHANY 


were showered upon the gallant volunteers. The 
consent of parents counted for little. If that con- 
sent were refused, the youngster would run off from 
home and join,” anyhow. 

Thus, it came to pass that my Uncle Ealph had, 
without the slightest hesitation or consultation with 
anybody — ^moved solely by the impulse of the 
moment — ^volunteered one Monday morning to join 
a company which was to leave immediately for 
Virginia. 

That Monday evening he rode down to the home 
of Squire Eoberts to have a final talk with Nellie: 
and so it was that they were together in the flower- 
garden, and beneath the towering cedar, which re- 
mains faithful to the weather-beaten mansion even 
to this day. 

Ealph was not pert, or forward, neither was he 
bashful and timid ; he was a thoroughly fearless man, 
able to say, face to face and without shrinking, that 
which he had on his mind to say to any man or woman. 
Something in his manner may have suggested that 
he had come with definite, resolute purpose, for 
Nellie was very grave, and she waited for him to 
speak. 

Nellie, you remember the night I first saw 
you ? ” 

She did not turn her head away, nor cast her eyes 
to the ground: she turned her sweet, serious face to 
his and looked him steadily, kindly, somewhat sadly, 
in the eye. 


[ 136 ] 


NELLIE ROBERTS’S HOME 


Of course I do, Ralph ; I have not forgotten.’’ 

Up to that time, Nellie, I had been nothing hut 
a boj — an aimless, frolicking boy. The girls I had 
known had never caused me a second thought. After 
I had seen you ” 

He paused, the color had mounted his cheeks ; his 
eyes were searching hers with all the pleading of 
wistful tenderness. Her eyes did not falter, but 
there was less color in her cheeks, and her bosom 
heaved. 

He went on : 

^^After I had seen you the whole world seemed 
changed. I was no longer the same. New feelings 
took hold of me. In all the world there was no 
woman but you. I felt unworthy of you, and yet I 
felt that unless I could win you the world would be 
black to me forever.” 

Her eyes were lowered now, and she gazed away — 
off at the horizon, with a look of uncertainty and 
pain. 

I knew that you loved me, Ralph, but I have 
not meant to lead you on. We are both too young 
to know our own minds yet.” 

Know my own mind ! ” he cried. “ Do you sup- 
pose, after thinking and dreaming of you all these 
months, that I could ever look at another woman?” 

Do not all young men say that, Ralph ? ” she 
asked with a slight smile. 

But some of them mean it, Nellie, else there is 
no such thing as true love in the world.” 

[137 1 


BETHANY 


^^And each young man believes at the time that 
he is the true lover who does mean it/’ she continued 
in the same tone of gentle raillery. 

^^But, Nellie, you know I mean it. In your heart 
of hearts you know that you hold my life in your 
hands. You know that if you were to turn your hack 
upon me and never speak to me again, I should never 
love any other girl.” 

He laid his hand upon hers : she did not snatch it 
away, neither did she let it remain so. To all ap- 
pearances she was controlling herself by a great ef- 
fort. Impulse should not beat down her guard. 

Kalph, suppose you should see some other girl 
who suited you better. You do not know. You have 
not seen many yet. You have never been out of your 
own neighborhood. What can either of us know 
about the future and the new faces we shall see ? ” 

There is something back of all this,” he said 
moodily. 

People have talked to your father and mother 
about me, and set them against me; and you are 
afraid to trust me.” 

At this she flushed, and her eyes kindled. 

Kalph, has any man the right to ask a girl to 
put her life into his keeping before he has become 
master of himself ? Don’t you want your sweetheart 
to be proud of you ? Don’t you want her to put con- 
fidence in you? Oh, Kalph, do you dream of what 
the misery of any poor girl must be when she gives 
[ 138 ] 


NELLIE ROBERTS’S HOME 


her love to one who has not proven that he can be 
true to her in every sense of the word ? ” 

He was touched. Again he put out his hand, and 
rested it on hers for a moment. 

know what you mean, Nellie. But I have 
been different since I knew you. From the first I 
have felt that I must turn over a new leaf, and 
make myself worthy of you.” 

They were both silent. She felt that his future 
and hers depended upon self-control; and at this 
crisis she was the stronger of the two. He felt that 
further words would avail nothing. After an in- 
terval of silence, he said, simply ; I volunteered 
to-day to go to the army, Nellie.” 

What was the emotion which made her start? 
Was it joy, or was it a sudden panic of fear? Did 
she feel proud? Did she regret? Oh, wonderful 
secretiveness of the maidenly nature! 

He could not for his life have told whether she was 
glad or sorry. Yet I am sure that he could not have 
said anything that would have lifted him higher in 
her esteem. 

In common with the generality of our people, she 
had been filled with the belief that, if there should be 
any war at all, it would be a very brief, glorious af- 
fair. A sort of military promenade, with plenty of 
music, flowers, handsome uniforms, public applause, 
and happy results, was what the civil war was going to 
be. The Yankees won’t fight, and Toombs will drink 
[ 139 ] 


BETHANY 


all the blood that is spilled. Consequently there is 
rivalry between the chivalrous young men of the 
South to volunteer, and there is hasty leave-taking 
everywhere, lest the whole thing should be ended 
ere they reach the field of glory. 

Still, in a vague way. Uncle Ralph felt that he 
was doing rather a serious thing to join the army. 
He had never been away from home before. How 
it would all be in Virginia was a mystery to him; 
and there is a certain amount of uneasiness which 
most men feel concerning mysteries wherein guns 
and bayonets figure. Hence, he was unusually grave 
as he rose to say good-by. And I think his sweet- 
heart softened toward him, relenting somewhat. 
Anyhow, she said: ^^Wait, Ralph.” Then she went 
among the fiowers, and she picked the choicest, and 
she made a tiny bouquet which she brought. She 
busied herself pinning it to the lapel of his coat, 
and when she let go the flowers, he drew her to him 
with his strong right arm and kissed her before she 
could help it. 

Then he was gone, and she stood looking after 
him without a word, speechless with indignation per- 
haps, until the sound of his horse’s galloping feet 
could no longer be heard down the road. 


[ 140 ] 


CHAPTEK II 


TO THE FRONT FOR OUR FLAG MANASSAS 

“For Dixie’s land I’ll take my stand, 

To live and die for Dixie 1 

Fervently, with almost hysterical enthusiasm, 
the strains of Dixie ” were cheered throughout the 
length and breadth of the Southern country. Patriot- 
ism was at white heat. The gray jacket was the badge 
of knighthood. Prouder than ducal coronet was the 
soldier’s cap. F airer women never inspired with 
brighter smiles the armed chivalry of any land under 
the sun than those who beamed encouragement upon 
the soldier boys of the South in 1861. 

Who thought of four years of carnage ? Who 
dreamed of the valley of the shadow of death — the 
Malvern Hills, the Gettyshurgs? What seer, rapt, 
gloomy, prophetic, foretold the horrors that awaited 
a deluded people, and essayed to check the headlong 
advance of the Southern Lochiels? The heavens 
were all serene, and nobody thought that they would 
be lurid soon with burning homes — ^with the ghastly 
[141 ] 


BETHANY 

incendiarism of Fredericksburg, and Atlanta, and 
Columbia. 

Attack the North ? Nobody thought of it. Cross 
the frontier, pillage Northern cities, slay Northern 
people in their own territory? Nobody meant to do 
it. That was not the thought at all. Self-defense, 
self-preservation, safety for our own homes, institu- 
tions, liberties — that was the cry of the South ; that 
was her purpose ; that the inspiration which unfurled 
her battle-flag. Let us alone ! We have not sought 
to interfere with you people of the North; we do 
not attack your domestic institutions, nor intermed- 
dle with your State laws. Why should you make 
war upon ours ? ^ What right have you to meddle ? 
You knew what our peculiar institution ” was be- 
fore you ever urged us to come into the Union with 
you. We have not changed. What we were then, 
we are now. It is you who have changed, not us. 
Is the nigger more precious to you now than he was 
then ? Is slavery more of a sin now than it was then ? 

Let us alone and we will let you alone. Attack us 
and we will flght for our rights as freemen till our 
land is soaked with blood. 

“For Dixie’s land I’ll take my stand, 

To live and die for Dixie ! ” * 

* It was the music of “ Dixie ” which thrilled. The words of 
the original song were wholly unworthy. The two lines above 
quoted were the only ones we cared for. 

[ 143 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


So ran the song: so throbbed the hearts of the 
people. On to Virginia, to protect the Southern 
frontier ! 

The drums heat in all the towns and cities; the 
Southern Cross flew in its field of red; the hands 
played ; and the Boys in Gray ” fell into line. 

Sad ? No. What was there to he sad about ? Was 
not the very air bracing and exhilarating with en- 
thusiasm of patriotic purpose? Did not the volun- 
teer move to the colors on a path strewn with flowers ? 
The old and the young, the rich and the poor, the 
girls and the boys, all hurrahed for the Southern 
volunteer. The very negroes pulled off their wool 
hats and cheered lustily as the Boys in Gray ” 
passed by. 

Doubt that his cause was just? No. How could 
he? Had he not been taught from boyhood that 
State rights antedated national rights ; that the 
States had created the nation by voluntary contract ; 
and that the partners who had made the contract 
could unmake it, when its terms were broken? To 
the simple, untutored mind of the Southern volun- 
teer, the facts seemed clear and the logic irre- 
sistible. 

If South Carolina had seceded, was that any 
reason why Mr. Lincoln should call for an army to 
crush her? Had she done any more than Josiah 
Quincy had declared Massachusetts would do? Had 
the Milledgeville Convention in Georgia done any 
I 143 ] 


BETHANY 

more than the Hartford Convention in Connecticut 
had met to do ? 

When New England threatened Jefferson and 
Madison with secession, did these presidents call for 
volunteers to invade New England? No. The 
grievances were removed, immense national sacri- 
fices being made to keep New England pacified. 

Why threaten the South with invasion ? Had we 
done anything our fathers had not done; anything 
which the New England fathers had not done, or 
claimed the right to do ? Compromise had brought 
us together in the Union, compromise had kept us 
together in the Union: our renewed offers to settle 
all disputes along the lines of the old compromise 
of our fathers had been contemptuously rejected — 
who then was to blame for the breach of the Union ? 

Muster armies to threaten the South, invade the 
South, coerce the South ! Shame upon them ! And 
should we truckle in base submission to the North ? 
We would die first. 

Kant, orator, rant! — till the foam froths at your 
lips and your throat is hoarse and sore ! Sing, ladies, 
sing! — till the slumberous atmosphere of the Old 
South quivers with electrical passion ! Blow, bugle, 
blow! — till every heart shall swell with martial 
purpose and every eye gleam with the light of 
battle ! 

The storm which has been brewing for fifty years 
has burst at last — ^burst North, burst South — and 
[ 144 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


the efforts of any mortal man, North or South, to 
stop its course would be that of him who whistles 
against the wind. 

Pompey the Great was rather too self-confident, 
as the results proved, when he said that he could raise 
an army by the stamp of his foot; but it is no exag- 
geration to say that Abraham Lincoln raised armies 
with a spurt of his pen. The ink was not dry on the 
proclamation in which he called for volunteers to 
invade the South before there was a Southern host 
ready to meet these volunteers at the border. 

Word would go out through the towns, villages 
and country neighborhoods, that Colonel A. or Cap- 
tain B. wanted to raise a company ” to go to Vir- 
ginia; and if the said colonel or captain had the 
proper standing, volunteers came at the call. It was 
no trouble for the right sort of man to raise a com- 
pany.” In this manner Uncle Ralph had enlisted, 
joining the Bethany Guards. As the men who vol- 
unteered in this company were all new men, with- 
out the slightest training or cohesion, and as they 
were impatient to be incorporated in some regu- 
lar command, they were to be marched on foot to 
Augusta. They fomjed in Bethany, and they left 
the town amid the waving of the white handkerchiefs 
of the women and the loud cheering of the men. 
They were to pass along the Big Road by our old 
homestead, and we were on the lookout for them. 
Uncle Ralph had told us good-by that morning when 
11 [ 145 ] 


BETHANY 


he left; hut, as soon as we heard the drum up the 
road, we hurried to the front gate — grandfather more 
intent and excited than any of us. 

Here they came, step, step, step. I jumped the 
fence, ran out into the road, and jerked off my little 
cap — 

Hurrah for the ‘ Bonnie Blue Flag! ’ ” 

Others had been shouting it all around me for 
weeks. The soldiers were tickled at my enthusi- 
asm; they cheered me good-naturedly; they saluted 
our folks who stood at the gate; and Uncle Kalph 
ran out of the ranks to wring the hands of my mother 
once more ; and to say a final word, with a trembling 
voice, to his old father. 

“ Good-by, Pa. Take good care of yourself. You 
must write to me in Virginia.” 

Grandfather choked up; he could not say a word. 
He put out his hand, already tremulous with palsy. 
Uncle Ealph pressed it hard, started to say some- 
thing else, could not, and then ran to join his com- 
pany. 

I had been following the soldiers. Every beat of 
the drum made my blood tingle. I thought the fiag 
was the finest sight I ever beheld. It was of silk, 
and beautifully worked, and upon it the radiance of 
the sun played as upon a mirror. I reckon we were 
half a mile from the house when Uncle Kalph 
stopped me. 

“ Go back now, little man,” he said, and he caught 
[ 146 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


me up in his arms. I squeezed him around the neck, 
and began to cry. “ There, there,’’ he said to soothe 
me, ‘^you must not cry. Good-by, little man. I 
will write to you when I get to Virginia.” 

He sat me down and went to the fence, where a 
Cherokee rose was running wild from panel to panel 
of the rail fence. He cut one beautiful bud, 
brought it to me and said in a low tone, “You keep 
this till Sunday, and when you go to Sunday-school 
give it to — you know. Tell her it is to remember 
me by.” 

He fell into ranks as soon as he caught up with 
his company, and I could only see after that the un- 
dulating line and the brilliant flag. The road dipped 
under the hill, and I saw them no more. 

Uncle Ralph’s company marched on, gaily enough, 
through the country of sand-beds and scrub oaks and 
tall pines toward Augusta. There was no hardship 
and no hurry. In the day it was a pleasant walk ; at 
night no more than a camp-hunt bivouac. 

On the second day, when they halted for a long rest 
and dinner, the men amused themselves with games, 
shooting at marks, and with rough practical jokes 
played upon one another. A boisterous fellow named 
Jenkins had been particularly full of fun and frolic — 
overflowing with animal spirits. Going for water to 
the spring near the camp, he had seen a green snake — 
a slender thing belonging to the non-poisonous kind 
described in the books. As all naturalists know, the 
[ 147 ] 


BETHANY 


poisonous serpents have flat heads and stubby tails. 
Naturalists have long been aware of this. The ser- 
pents which have slender heads and sharp tails carry 
no poison. 'Academic scientists all know this, and 
have long known it. 

The green snake which Jenkins saw had a slender 
head and a long, keen, attenuated tail. Any aca- 
demic scientist would have been delighted with this 
green serpent, so ideally did he represent the non- 
poisonous type. 

Laughing loudly at the fright he was going to 
give the boys, J enkins caught the slender green snake 
and ran with it to the camp. He made as if to put it 
on flrst one of the men, and then the other; and in 
the shake of a sheep’s tail he had the camp stam- 
peded. Everybody ran, some screaming, some laugh- 
ing, some cussing ” and threatening Jenkins. All 
the while, the ideally non-poisonous serpent was 
biting Jenkins’s arm. He paid no attention; he 
knew it was not a snake of the deadly kind ; he only 
laughed at the fright of the others, and started toward 
Uncle Ralph. Now, my uncle was a brave man, but 
he had a mortal distaste for two things — a biting dog 
and a snake. When Jenkins ran toward him with 
the squirming reptile. Uncle Ralph jumped for his 
gun and called out: Jenkins, if you put that snake 
on me I’ll shoot you ! ” 

Whereupon, Jenkins gave chase to some one else, 
the snake continuing to bite him in the arm. 

[ 148 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


After a while J enkins’ face lost all of its fun. He 
dashed the serpent to the ground and stamped its 
life out. He sat down on the ground and said, 

Boys, I’m sick.” 

Uncle Ralph ran to help carry him into the shade 
of a tree, while others got whisky from a knapsack 
and poured it down his throat. He grew worse and 
worse. The poison had had the time it needed be- 
fore danger had been suspected. That night Jenkins 
died. A detail carried him back home; and the 
members of that detail would always look uncom- 
fortable when the incident was referred to — so ter- 
rible had been the grief with which the poor man’s 
family received the corpse. 

The evening of the second day brought the Beth- 
any Guards into the city of Augusta, where their 
appearance was greeted with every token of patri- 
otic enthusiasm. They were treated like heroes, 
cheered by men and hoys, smiled upon and given 
flowers and inspiring words by women and girls; 
furnished with all they needed to eat, and more than 
they needed to drink. 

Augusta has never been a Puritan town, nor a 
cold-blooded town ; and at this period Charleston her- 
self was not more fervently Southern. 

Two local companies had long since been organ- 
ized in Augusta and drilled to capture the United 
States Arsenal on the Hill. Long ago, telegrams 
going through the local office from Washington, to 
[ 149 ] 


BETHANY 


collect the United States Gulf Squadron at Pensa- 
cola, had been made known to the local leaders, and 
Governor Joseph E. Brown had been notified. At 
his instance, a trusty man was put into the telegraph 
office to stop all such messages. 

Long ago, the officer in charge of the arsenal had 
surrendered it to the State authorities. 

In such a town what would the Bethany Guards 
expect hut an ovation? What would they have, if 
not a good time? Hot and strong flowed the heady 
wine of patriotic impulse in 1861 ; and cold indeed 
was the nature which did not yield to the intoxication. 

When the Bethany Guards fell into line to march 
to the depot, where they with other companies were 
to take the cars for a destination in Virginia, every 
soldier’s musket had upon it a bouquet of fiowers. 
Beneath every gray jacket beat a proud heart: each 
and every one believed that he was doing the noblest 
thing that a Southern man could possibly do. 

Shrill shrieks the whistle of the engine! Hurry 
up, men, and finish the farewells 1 One hand-shake 
here, one more parting word there, one more whis- 
pered message yonder, one more sly, tender glance 
sent and answered. A preliminary quiver runs 
throughout the long line of freight cars while the 
locomotive puffs and blows, and then, “ All aboard I ” 

There is a rush and a scurry, a trampling of many 
feet, a rattle of arms, a loud calling back and forth 
of excited voices, a mingling of shriller feminine ex- 
[ 150 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


clamations ; and then the train pulls out, the freight 
cars crowded inside and on top with noisy, confident, 
jubilant volunteers. Cheers follow them, while 
handkerchiefs wave, and to every shout comes back 
a reply from the soldiers as they go — till the river 
is crossed, and Carolina takes them out of sight. 

And so the Bethany Guards are off to the war — 
all, excepting poor Jenkins, and the detail which 
carried his body back to his home. 

Would it serve any useful purpose to linger upon 
the details of the first experiences of these volun- 
teers? We know how cheerfully they bore the dis- 
comforts of box-car travel ; we know how keenly they 
enjoyed the wayside ovations they received when- 
ever the cars stopped; we know how they relished 
the large hampers packed with good victuals which 
matronly women presented at every station; we see 
those younger men throwing kisses at those buxom, 
sweet-faced girls who have tossed flowers among 
them. No black passions have yet been aroused. It 
is all gay, buoyant, generous. No vindictiveness 
finds expression. Southern men are rushing to the 
defense of their native land. Nothing more. No- 
body doubts that it can easily be done. Nobody 
thinks of retaliation. To invade the North and 
make war upon its homes is no soldier’s purpose. 
This sunny home-land of ours is invaded; we will 
defend it. These mothers, sisters, sweethearts of 
[151 1 


BETHANY 


ours are in danger; we will rush to arms to save 
them. That, that, is the sole motive of the Confed- 
erate Volunteer. 

And so we come to Petersburg. It is another Au- 
gusta. Sentiment is just the same, just as strong, 
just as generous. The volunteers from Georgia are 
heroes here in old Virginia, the same as they were at 
home. They are sent to Norfolk; regiments elect 
their officers ; and in a short while they see service — 
Portsmouth, the Charles City Road, and the Will- 
iamsburgh Road. There is firing on the picket line. 
It is not very hot, and the volunteers rather like it 
They begin to work off pent-up enthusiasm. 

One day there is a smart skirmish; some Yankees 
are slain, some captured. The Georgia volunteers 
note with interest that the dead bluecoats are 
branded on the temple. How is this? A prisoner 
explains — the prisoner himself wearing the orna- 
ment of a brand on the temple. The dead men have 
been felons, confined in the penitentiary; they had 
been branded by the good Puritans, who had said so 
much about the barbarity of Southern slave-drivers ; 
they had been released upon condition that they 
would join the army; and here they were. At least, 
that is what the prisoner said. The brand was there 
to show for itself.* 

* This statement of the brand on the temple was given to me by 
Col. Claiborne Snead, who saw it and heard the prisoner’s explana- 
tion. 


[ 153 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


General Magruder is in command of our forces; 
General Butler commands on the other side. Ad- 
vancing on the road between Yorktown and Hamp- 
ton, Butler’s lieutenant, General Pierce, meets a 
check at our hands. Only one Confederate soldier 
is killed in this affair of Big Bethel, Henry Wyatt, 
of North Carolina, the first Southern soldier to fall 
on the battle-field in the great civil war. 

From time to time we received letters from my 
Uncle Ralph relating his experiences in the army. 
He described to us the ups and downs of the soldier’s 
life. Often he found the fatigue of the march more 
than he could stand ; often he was hungry ; often he 
slept in a fence comer on the wet ground. Neverthe- 
less, he said that the soldier was generally full of 
fun and courage. It was considered weak and un- 
manly to complain. He, therefore, looked on the 
bright side, and made the best of everything. 

My Uncle Ralph took part in the first battle of 
Manassas, and his letter afterwards, describing that 
awful Sunday in July, 1861, contained details which 
interested us immensely. At one time during the 
fight, he said that our men looked as though they 
were completely whipped. They had broken ranks, 
and were falling back in disorder. He said that he 
was himself within a few feet of General Bartow, 
of our State, who was almost wild with grief at the 
manner in which his brigade had been cut to pieces 
[ 153 ] 


BETHANY 

and routed. He heard General Bartow cry in heart- 
broken tones : 

How can I ever show my face in Georgia 
again ? ” 

A few moments later he was killed, while rallying 
his troops, flag in hand, and trying to lead them back 
to the assault. 

He told us how some Mississippi troops mistook 
the Eighth Georgia Kegiment for Yankees, and flred 
into them with terrible effect. No wonder poor Bar- 
tow was almost frantic, played on as his flve hundred 
and fifty Georgians were by Sherman’s battery in 
front and the Mississippi rifles in flank. The little 
pine thicket into which the Georgians had penetrated 
was literally tom to pieces by the shells and grape. 
Bartow’s horse was killed under him, and when he 
rallied to the side of the Seventh Georgia, there 
were not more than a hundred of his men left. It 
was a thrilling sight when General Beauregard lifted 
his hat to the survivors, after the enemy had fled, 
and exclaimed : I salute the Eighth Georgia Kegi- 
ment ! ” 

My uncle described the well-known circumstance 
of Jackson and Bee — ^how the splendid courage and 
dash of the Yankees had overwhelmed the command 
of General Bee; how that officer had ridden up to 
Jackson saying, with despair in his voice, General, 
they are beating us back ! ” how J ackson had curtly 
answered, Sir, we will give them the bayonet ! ” 
[ 154 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


how Bee had returned to his shattered soldiers, ex- 
claiming, There is Jackson, standing like a stone 
wall: rally behind the Virginians; let us determine 
to die here and we will conquer : follow me ! ” and 
how the dauntless man with his rallied handful had 
charged the enemy, and had fallen dead — face to 
the foe. 

The Mississippians were in hard luck that day, 
for after littering the earth with Georgians, they 
made a similar mistake with the South Carolina 
troops, and played havoc among them for a while. 

My uncle related the story of the young soldier 
who caught a rabbit which a stray shot had wounded, 
and who kept it by him during the battle — eating it 
that night. He said the men were nearly dead for 
water, and that in the intervals of loading and firing 
they picked blackberries to allay the intolerable 
thirst. 

The letter went on to say that there was a farm- 
house in the line of fire between the two armies, and 
that the family remained in it throughout the battle. 

Grandfather, mother and I exhausted the excla- 
mations of astonishment when that portion of the 
letter was reached. 

My uncle explained that the family consisted of 
an old bed-ridden woman and her two children. As 
the bullets began to strike the house, they shifted the 
invalid from place to place, now up-stairs, now down- 
stairs, till at length her time came, and with it the 
[ 155 ] 


BETHANY 


ball which fate had meant for her. More than a 
hundred shells struck the house, riddling it, but the 
son and daughter escaped without a wound. 

He said that among the articles captured were sev- 
eral wagon-loads of handcuffs. 

Handcuffs ? ” cried grandfather. 

“ Yes, that is the way it is written,” answered 
mother. 

What on earth could the Yankees want with 
handcuffs ? ” I asked. 

“ Perhaps to put on prisoners,” said grandfather, 
after a silence of some moments. 

The letter spoke of a soldier named Dejoumette, 
a Georgian, who had been wounded, captured, and 
then left behind by the retreating enemy; and who, 
managing to get hold of a musket, had killed Colonel 
Slocum, of Rhode Island. This officer^ following 
behind his regiment, had drawn his revolver, and 
was about to shoot Dejoumette, not suspecting that 
the wounded man had got a loaded musket, and was 
ready to defend himself. 

The letter also described how an Alabama boy, 
William R. Oakley, a private in the Lauderdale 
Rifles, had strayed from his command, got captured 
and been bound hand and foot with a rope ; how he 
had gnawed the rope in two, freed himself, seized a 
dead man’s musket and started out to And his regi- 
ment, when he encountered a Federal officer on horse- 
back. This was Colonel Corcoran, of the Sixty- 
[ 156 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


ninth New York regiment. Before the Northern 
colonel could catch on to the situation, the seventeen- 
year-old Alabamian had brought the musket to his 
shoulder, and was remarking, Come down ; you are 
my prisoner ! Mounting the horse, the boy piloted 
his captive to Beauregard’s tent, and rumor reported 
that the general had made a captain out of the boy 
on the spot. 

My imcle said that after the fight was ended, the 
Confederate soldiers did all they could for the 
wounded Yankees; and that the wounded of both 
armies helped each other as far as they were able. 
He saw one badly hurt New York boy, bleeding al- 
most to death, who exclaimed, It serves me right 
for being a fool ; I had no business here ! ” 

“ Poor fellow ! ” sighed mother. hope he will 
get well. If I could get the chance I would like to 
nurse him.” 

The letter spoke of another boy, who had been 
bruised by a spent ball, and at whose side walked 
an old man of sixty, with a shattered arm. The boy 
was crying. Asked what was the matter, he replied : 
“ The Yankees killed two of my brothers; they fell 
at my side. But I saw the man who shot one of 
them and I killed him.” 

What an awful Sabbath day that was ! ” ex- 
claimed my sympathetic mother. 

My uncle described the field after the battle — 
the ground tom up, the puddles of blood, the arms 
[ 157 ] 


BETHANY 


and legs scattered about, the heads without bodies, 
the bodies without heads, human brains splashed 
around; some men silent in agony, some moaning 
feebly, some screaming with pain, some cursing fate 
and crying for water. 

What an awful Sabbath ! ” exclaimed my mother 
again. 

Yes,” remarked my grandfather, in his driest 
tone, I often wonder how God and His angels can 
allow Satan to have everything his own way as he so 
often seems to do.” 

Mother was shocked. Why, father, there are 
some things, you know, that it was not intended we 
should understand. God works in a mysterious 
way ” 

He certainly does,” interrupted grandfather. 

Go on with the letter.” 

My uncle had seen one man whose jaw had been 
tom off; it hung by the threads on one side. An- 
other had the front of his stomach blown away, so 
that his entrails had mn out. Another had his 
shoulder shot off; another’s head had been blown 
open and the brains were oozing 

Mother ! ” I cried, skip to some other place in 
the letter ! That makes me turn cold and sick ! ” 

There was a good deal more of just such horrors, 
but she passed them over. 

My uncle spoke of one poor Northern soldier 
whom they found on Tuesday. He had crept out 
(158 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


into the bushes, wounded to the death, and had made 
himself a head-rest out of the twigs and leaves. 
There he had died; and when they found him his 
hands were crossed over his breast, and his Testa- 
ment lay by his side. 

Here my mother gave way to tears, and none of 
us was unmoved. 

My uncle gave a glowing account of how the two 
generals, Beauregard and Johnston, had galloped to 
the front at a critical time, and had seized the stand- 
ards, cheered the troops, and led them in person to 
the charge. Indeed, the battle trembled in the bal- 
ance for one tremendous moment; and the dashing 
gallantry of the two leaders was all that saved the 
day. 

He said that it was reported that one of the sol- 
diers of the Union army, as he lay weltering in his 
blood, cried out, My God ! What is all this for ? ” 

At this my grandfather was as much excited as 
I ever saw him. He rose to his full height, and for 
a moment there was fire in his eyes. 

It^s all because the damned politicians and fa- 
natics on both sides think more of the offices than 
they do of the people! Hs because the sectional 
hatred, which has been fanned for a hundred years, 
has caught fire! Hs because the abolitionists, like 
all fanatics, and the fire-eaters of the South, like all 
madmen, would rather sink the world than give up 
a purpose. 


[ 159 ] 


BETHANY 


In 1832, when South Carolina wanted to defy 
the Government, I was one of the fifty-four Geor- 
gians who followed John Forsyth out of the conven- 
tion in Milledgeville which indorsed the position of 
our sister State. I am sorry now that I did it. The 
fight had to come, and we have lost half our chances 
by not making a united struggle then ! ” 

All the world knows how Stonewall Jackson’s 
firmness, aided by the arrival of Kirby Smith’s fresh 
troops, turned the tide in our favor. Uncle Kalph’s 
letter stated that the citizens of Washington had 
turned out to witness the battle, as though it was 
Bamum’s show. 

Thousands of men and women, high public func- 
tionaries, were in attendance. The House of Rep- 
resentatives adjourned in order that Congressmen 
might go over and see the Union army march to Rich- 
mond. Nobody on that side doubted the victory. 
They were so sure of it that they had brought the 
champagne and other necessaries for a banquet, with 
which they intended to celebrate their triumph. 

After their defeat, the panic was indescribable. 
It was a wild race, as of a stampeded herd, to get 
across the Potomac. 

The jubilation .among Southern people, following 
this first battle of Manassas, was natural, but it was 
hurtful to us in the long run. We became too self- 
confident. We neglected preparations. We under- 
[ 160 ] 


TO THE FRONT 


estimated our foes. We failed utterly to realize tlie 
magnitude of the task before us. Our army was 
almost as much disorganized by success as the other 
was by defeat. After winning the victory, we spent 
the balance of the year bragging about it. And while 
we were content with singing Beauregard and John- 
ston,” the Northern people were girding up their 
loins for mightier efforts. 

All things considered, it might have been better 
for us had old General Scott ended his long career 
by giving us at Bull Run a moderate and merciful 
drubbing. 

Note. — In those far-gone days there was a young school-teacher 
in Louisiana who bore in his emotional nature every hope, fear, 
sympathy, yearning and aspiration of the Old South. Born and 
reared in Maryland, loving his native State with ardent loyalty, his 
eyes, during his temporary exile, were continually and anxiously 
turned homewards. His immediate environment was that of in- 
tense Secessionism. “ Southern Rights was everybody’s watch- 
word, and every throb of his heart echoed it. But he was a Mary- 
lander. Louisiana had seceded, what would Maryland do ? Her 
sisters of the South were in deadly peril, her help was needed, 
what would she do? 

By day and by night the black-eyed creole-looking school-teacher 
pondered, hoping, fearing, sick with suspense. Why did his home- 
people hesitate? Would Maryland never act? Something in the 
newspapers caught his eye one day, some vague encouragement, 
and in a rush of profoundly earnest feeling, he, James R. Randall, 
as true a poet as ever sang, dashed off the famous lines 

“ Maryland I My Maryland ! ” 

They electrified the South then; they move the soul with their 
burning passion to-day. If ever the soul of a man passed into poesy, 
12 [ 161 ] 


BETHANY 


it went into this. And if ever deep called unto deep, it was when 
the fervor of this poet made its appeal to the South. 

Alas ! Maryland did not come. It was even then too late. The 
bayonet pinned her down. The overwhelming moral weight of the 
“ despot’s heel ” was already on her “ shore.” But the poem made 
a profound impression, not only in Maryland, but throughout the 
Southern States. 

In the whole range of literature, is there, in fact, a more soul- 
stirring war-song? Is there a poem more perfectly lyric in spirit, 
conception and expression? It would puzzle you to name it. 

Go read the entire poem. Consider it in all the circumstances 
surrounding its birth. Consider the variety of the chords it 
touches, and the power with which they are struck. Realize the 
tempestuous torrent of feeling, gripped within the classic mold of 
the polished stanzas. It is the sacred fire imprisoned within a 
Grecian vase. 

He has lived neglected — as Edgar Poe was neglected. When he 
dies we will give him a monument — as we have done for Poe. And 
then his exquisite verses will be collected and we will weep re- 
gretful tears as we have done over Poe, when we realize what a ra- 
diant spirit had dwelt unknown in our midst. After which, we 
will console our consciences by sending additional missionaries to 
amend the manners of the heathen. 


( 162 1 


CHAPTER III 


RALPH AND NELLIE AGAIN 

Uncle Ralph was at home on furlough at the 
close of the year 1861. How proud we were of our 
gallant-looking young soldier, dressed in his uni- 
form! I could never wear off the novelty of it, or 
dull the edge of my boyish admiration. It was a 
pretty picture, that of grandfather and Uncle Ralph 
strolling about the grove, palsied age and robust 
youth, the old man proud of his soldier son, who 
was affectionately deferential to him. 

Hi ! Marse Ralph ! ” sung out all the negroes. 

Christmas Gif’, Marse Ralph ! ” The holidays 
would not be ushered in properly if negroes couldn’t 
catch the white folks’ Christmas Gif’.” 

Well, they all had their little presents, as usual; 
and Uncle Ralph looked in on their Christmas dance ; 
and he once more beat everybody on the place run- 
ning a foot-race. More than ever, he was the life 
of the plantation ” — in that Christmas time of 
1861-62. 

When he mounted his horse and rode southward, 
[ 163 ] 


BETHANY 

all of us knew what that meant. He was going to 
see Nellie Roberts. 

On the next Sabbath, as the congregation gathered 
at Bethany for services, there was quite a little flut- 
ter and buzzing, as Uncle Ralph, in full uniform, 
stepped into the aisle with the belle of the piney- 
woods on his arm. More than one matron, with 
match-making proclivities, whispered, What a 
handsome couple ! ” 

There wasn’t much of a sermon that day, and no 
conscientious committee on The State of the 
Church ” could have reported progress. For it so 
happened that Brother Gilbert Hubbell occupied our 
pulpit. In those days preachers in our part of the 
moral vineyard did not use notes. They trusted to 
inspiration. Most of them had an abundant flow of 
talk, which needed nothing so much as a condenser ; 
and, as the congregations were not critical, pretty 
much any sort of a clerical donkey could have his 
bray, provided it did not take him too long to finish. 
We had been trained to accept, or tolerate, any rub- 
bish an orthodox preacher was a-mind to give us, and 
to be thankful that it was no worse. And we had 
been educated not to talk back at the pulpit, no matter 
what silly arguments and absurd statements we 
might hear. When I was a boy, it used to occur to 
me that if preachers — ^like lawyers, editors, stump- 
speakers and legislators — ^knew that they would be 
followed by critics, who would expose misstatements 
[ 164 ] 


RALPH AND NELLIE AGAIN 


and ridicule flimsy arguments, they, the preachers, 
would he a good deal more careful, and benefits of 
various sorts might result. 

Brother Gilbert Hubbell was a rough diamond — 
an exceedingly rough, untrimmed diamond. He had 
round eyes that looked like blue marbles. You could 
no more look into them than you could look into a 
hard-boiled egg. He chewed tobacco, and the quan- 
tity of amber he could squirt around and about was 
something exceptional. He had a short leg, so that 
he walked with a hop. The forefinger of his right 
hand was stiff. With this stiff, inexorable finger, he 
used to stab at sinners, and point the way to hell. 

He always took a text, but that act was perfunctory 
only — a mere concession to precedent. No matter 
what text he might read, his sermon consisted of 
whatever he happened to have on his mind at the 
time. And he himself did not always know what he 
had on his mind until he pushed back his specs, and 
began to lumber.” 

Brother Hubbell was not our pastor at Bethany. 
He was simply a good old surplus, who could be re- 
lied on to fill any vacant Baptist pulpit for many 
miles around. When one of the regular incumbents 
of the churches was absent, or sick, or unusually lazy, 
the deficit was made good by our surplus — the Rev- 
erend Gilbert Hubbell. 

He had no regular charge himself, though he was 
exceedingly fond of preaching. He was just a plain 
[ 165 ] 


BETHANY 


farmer who had heard himself called to preach. 
His heart was somewhere in the neighborhood of the 
right place; and his character had never provoked 
any activity in the Grand Jury room, hut he was as 
ignorant as a yoke of steers. I used to wonder why 
they allowed him to preach at all; but, afterward, 
when I came to listen to some of the theological- 
seminary specimens, my memory went back regret- 
fully to Brother Hubbell. Give me heart without 
book-knowledge, rather than book-learning without 
heart. For if religion has got any message that will 
benefit me and you, our hearts must be touched — 
and changed. 

Old Brother Hubbell was rather trying at times, 
and his readings of the Scripture, and his pronuncia- 
tion of the hard words, used to cause much discom- 
fort and stirring about in the congregation. There 
would at times appear to be more coughing than was 
justified by the state of the weather. A sudden 
exodus from the rear benches was not unusual. 

If ever, in his reading of the Book, he came to the 
word Stephen, at the end of a line where it was cut 
in two by a hyphen. Brother Hubbell invariably pro- 
nounced the martyr’s name Step Hen. Hyphens 
were things undreamt of in the philosophy of Gil- 
bert Hubbell. To him Nebuchadnezzar was nothing 
more than plain, simple Nebucktaneezer — no matter 
who coughed or did not cough. 

On the Sunday when Nellie and Kalph were there 
[ 166 ] 


RALPH AND NELLIE AGAIN 


together, the text was The Lord is my Shepherd.” 
With such a text, it was natural that he should 
preach on Predestination ; and he did so. 

For five minutes he jogged along, in a quiet, mo- 
notonous, sing-song voice, setting forth his individual 
views on that simple dogma. There are some minis- 
ters of the gospel who fearlessly grapple with the 
task of holding forth, at one and the same time, on 
both Predestination and Free Will; and they har- 
monize the two in a manner quite satisfactory and 
conclusive. But Brother Hubbell never ventured 
tasks like those. Predestination was as much as 
he wanted to handle at a time. 

One step enough for me ” ; and, therefore. 
Brother Hubbell, on this occasion, warmed up to the 
task of demonstrating that whatever was intended 
from before the foundation of the world was bound 
to happen, no matter how laboriously we poor worms 
of the dust might tug and heave in the opposite di- 
rection. 

Brother Hubbell was amazed, as well he might be, 
that any sane citizen should challenge and defy so 
self-evident a truism. But, in order to convince even 
the giddy, he would give an illustration. 

By this time he had got up steam, and was hop- 
ping from one side of the pulpit to the other, at the 
imminent risk of tumbling down the steps. The stiff 
forefinger was stabbing and jabbing at unseen ene- 
mies on every side. At the top of his voice he 
[ 167 ] 


BETHANY 


chanted : But, oh, my hearers, let me illustrate this 
great truth! Let me give you a simple fact which 
happened to me only a few days ago. It proves pre- 
destination. It shows that man can not check or 
forestall the eternal judgments, and that whatever 
was intended from before the foundation of the 
world is bound to happen, no matter what any man 
may do. 

I was out a-huntin\ I saw a dove, a-settin’ on 
a limb. It was as fair a mark as I ever saw. I 
cocked my gun; I drawed a bead on the bird; I 
pulled the trigger — and she snapped!'' 

The tremendous emphasis with which the old field 
preacher uttered the words she snapped ” I shall 
never forget. They almost bounced me off the seat. 

I looked at Uncle Ealph, but did not catch his eye. 
He was looking straight ahead, sober as a judge. 

But, oh, my hearers 1 ” chanted Brother Hubbell, 
hopping to the other edge of the pulpit, that there 
bird was still a-settin’ on that there limb. She was 
not more’n thirty-five yards off. A fairer mark I 
never saw. Again I cocked my gun, again I drawed 
a bead, again I pulled the trigger — and again she 
snapped! ’’ 

And as he came to that repetition of the wayward 
behavior of his hitherto trustworthy gun. Brother 
Hubbell stamped on the fioor with his best foot, and 
his voice rose to a scream of emphasis. 

This time I was prepared for it, and I managed 
[ 168 ] 


RALPH AND NELLIE AGAIN 

to hold on to the bench. Then the chant rose once 
more: 

But, oh, my hearers ! Listen now. I’m a-comin’ 
on down the line. Listen! and see the sign on the 
wall! That there bird never moved till I was 
a-cockin’ my gun a third time, yet before I could 
draw a bead, she had took wing, and away she flew. 
Now listen ! I then aimed that gun at a stump, just 
to see what was what, and she went off with a bang, 
and she filled that there stump with missiles of 
death ! 

Now, my brethren, and all you sinners ! If it 
had not been predestined otherwise from before the 
foundation of the world, don’t you hnow I’d ha’ 
killed that bird!'* 

In reaching the climax of his illustration. Brother 
Hubbell had hopped to our side of the pulpit, and, as 
it happened, had overdone the thing. He stepped 
beyond the edge, lost his balance, clutched wildly at 
the pulpit rail, missed it, and went sprawling to the 
floor. So great was the momentum that he rolled 
under the deacon’s bench before he stopped. 

There was no laughter. Whatever feeling the ser- 
mon had caused, the accident aroused sympathy. 
Uncle Ralph was one of the first to help the good old 
man to his feet, dust the grit off, and to assist him back 
to his place. With thoughtful tact, a hymn had been 
raised ” ; everybody joined in, and, under the 
friendly cover of sacred song, the incident closed. 

[ 169 ] 


BETHANY 


Then followed the second prayer; then the Long 
Meter Doxology — so dear to the country-people of 
our land. 

When Brother Hubbell arose to dismiss the con- 
gregation, his composure had been restored, and all 
heads were bent reverently as he pronounced the 
time-honored benediction. 


[ 170 1 


CHAPTEK IV 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 

It was early in March, 1862, when Uncle Ealph 
set out to rejoin his company in Virginia. The cars 
were crowded with men returning to the army, as 
well as with recruits who had just volunteered. 
There were the Eamsey hoys of Lincoln county, and 
their friend, Toombs Cullars. There was a squad 
from Wilkes, and a squad from Warren, and a squad 
from Mr. Stephens’s county, Taliaferro. 

The youthful volunteers were in the highest state 
of jollity. Who cared for the rough riding in freight 
cars? Who minded the wind and the cold, or the 
sun and heat, on the tin-covered roof? The volun- 
teer gloried in his lusty youth ; and it was his pride 
to laugh at such petty discomforts. 

It was late in the evening when they reached Gor- 
donsville, Virginia, and a cold rain, driven by an 
east wind, was falling steadily. The trip had been 
glorious in respect to wayside ovations, one cheering 
feature of which had been provision-baskets 
crammed full of the best victuals. But box-car travel 
[171 ] 


BETHANY 


had not proven a luxury. The cheerful novelty of 
it soon wore off. Many a night as the volunteers lay 
on the tin roof, or on the floor within the stifling car 
itself, their minds went back to the soft beds at 
home. 

There was no ovation awaiting them at Gordons- 
ville. No lunch-baskets invited and soothed the ap- 
petite. The rain dripped perseveringly on the roof 
of the old box-car; and the volunteers looked around 
ruefully to find quarters for the night. It was cold ; 
and no fires blazed welcome anywhere. 

Keport to the Commissary, and get your tar- 
paulins ! 

So spoke an officer, and off trudged the volunteers 
in the mud to find the Commissary. 

What’s a tarpaulin, Dolph ? ” asked Toombs 
Collars of Dolph Kamsey. 

“ Dam’f I know. Hope it’s sump’n t’eat.” 

They soon found out that it meant a piece of tar- 
soaked cloth about ten feet square. The first one 
was handed out, and received with awe. 

How many of ’em do we git ? ” asked Collars. 

The Commissary answered that each fourteen men 
would get one tarpaulin. 

“ What do we do with it after we git it ? ” 

You make a tent or shelter out of it, and you 
sleep under it.” 

Collars said : Boys, let’s all cuss ! ” 

Well, sir, it was so unexpected, so ludicrous, to 
[ 172 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


these raw recruits — this military hypothesis that 
fourteen men could shelter themselves from the rain 
under a strip of canvas ten feet square — ^that they 
actually hurst out laughing. 

Don^t it beat hell ? ’’ laughed Cullars, tickled to 
death. 

They sought the woods, stretched the tarpaulin 
slantwise, like one side of the roof of a house — slant- 
ing it so as best to protect themselves — and labori- 
ously made a fire with wet wood. A cup of coffee 
and some cold food from the haversack made the 
supper ; then, sighing for the lost luxury of the box- 
car, they laid themselves down beneath the canvas, 
their blankets being stretched upon wet leaves or 
bare, soaked ground. Literally, the fourteen men 
had to lie, edge to edge, in order to keep under shel- 
ter : and when they had lain upon one side as long as 
they could stand it, they were all compelled to get up 
before they could place themselves on the other side. 
First on one edge and then on the other — ^thus slept 
the enthusiastic volunteers their first night in Vir- 
ginia. Next morning they were’ loaded on cars and 
taken to the Army of Northern Virginia which was 
in camp. 

To the raw recruits what a sight was this multi- 
tude of white tents, dotting the field as far as the 
eye could see, this coming and going of commissary 
wagons, this glimpse of a host in arms ! 

As the untutored countrymen tramped forward to 
[ 173 ] 


BETHANY 


join the ranks, they saw sullen-looking soldiers 
marching back and forth, musket in hand. 

What are they doing that for ? ” asked Cullars, 
turning to Uncle Ralph, who was acting as guide. 

That’s .the guard.” 

Guardin’ what ? I don’t see nothin’ to guard.” 

Why, man, he keeps guard to stop any of our 
boys if they wanted to leave camp.” 

The astonishment of the recruits was genuine, if 
not painful. 

Look here ! ’’ exclaimed Cullars. Do you mean 
to say that a Southern man who has gone and vol- 
unteered, and has come hundreds of miles to fight for 
his country, ain’t allowed to step outside his own 
camp ? ” 

He can’t go without a pass,” answered Uncle 
Ralph. 

Then after we git in there we can’t go nowhere 

without a pass — just like a d d nigger ! ” 

The disgust of Cullars was extreme. And to a 
very considerable extent the other recruits shared it 
But they marched on, nevertheless, found the regi- 
ment they sought, were heartily welcomed by neigh- 
bors, friends, old schoolmates, and relatives, who had 
joined the army the year before. Then, for many 
an hour, the newcomers had to tell the news from 
home, and answer a thousand and one questions about 
the loved ones in dear old Georgia. 

How the recruits learned to fit themselves to their 

[m] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 

surroundings, how they were drilled and disciplined, 
how they soon fell into rough, soldierly ways is an 
old story. When all is said and done, camp-life is 
hard, is brutalizing, is nasty; and the more faith- 
fully the picture is painted the less romance will at- 
tach to it. The camp is no place for the man whose 
nerves are weak, whose feelings are sensitive, whose 
stomach is easily upset, and whose principles are 
rigid. 

Woe unto that member of the mess who has ex- 
posed his weakness on any of these lines. He would 
see no peace, night or day, until he “ quit putting on 
airs,” and became a penitent conformer to all the 
rude standards of the camp. 

One of the unwritten laws in the Southern Army 
was that the soldier who punctually answered 
roll-call in the morning, and who had performed all 
his duties throughout the day, marching, fighting, 
entrenching with spade and shovel, or scouting far 
beyond the lines, could sit around the camp-fires at 
night and talk as long as he pleased — regardless of 
the bugle-calls of Lights Out.” 

And at these camp-fires, where the privates 
smoked, drank, played cards or gossiped, the freest 
discussion of public affairs was constantly indulged. 

The greater number of these private soldiers be- 
longed to families who were quite as good as the 
Lees, the Johnstons, the Stuarts, and the Magruders. 
These men of the line had been to school and college, 
[ 175 ] 


BETHANY 


many of them were lawyers, editors, doctors, skilled 
mechanics, independent merchants and farmers. 
Their place in the social world at home, their habits 
and education had accustomed them to unlimited 
freedom in criticising all public men from President 
down to village postmaster. 

The gulf which now separates the private from 
the officer all over the world, did not exist in the 
armies of the South. 

The Southern soldier was a gentleman who had 
volunteered to defend his native land against inva- 
sion; and, for the time being, he submitted to mil- 
itary organization and discipline; but it never was 
his idea, for a moment, that he thereby degraded 
himself into the position of a social inferior ; and the 
officers, from General Lee down, understood this per- 
fectly well. Nothing was more common than for the 
private in the ranks to guy unpopular or fancifully 
dressed officers, even in the hearing of the command- 
ing general. 

Once on the march from Savannah to Charleston, 
orders were given to certain Georgia and Alabama 
troops that no gun should be fired. The men had a 
way of shooting off their guns when they had got wet, 
in order to clean and reload. On the morning in ques- 
tion, a thoughtless volunteer fired his musket. A 
brilliantly dressed staff officer dashed up on horse- 
back, jerked out his revolver, and shot the poor fel- 
low dead. 


[ 176 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


There was fury in the hearts of the privates all 
that day. More than one musket showed a tendency 
to get in line with that smart, martinet West Pointer. 
Cooler heads kept mutiny down, hut it was hard 
work. That night when the camp-fires were lit, and 
the brutal deed could be talked over, the rage of the 
men broke all bounds. With one irresistible and 
common impulse they grabbed their muskets, and 
broke for the officers’ tents. God! What terrible 
cries of anger and vengeance startled the night ! 

Hoarse and frantic, the enraged soldiers shouted 
the name of the brutal staff-officer, demanding his 
life, damning him with fierce curses and execrations. 
Lucky it was for him that he had scooted to some 
hiding-place! Lucky for him that these desperate 
men could not lay their hands upon him. Balked of 
their prey, the men hesitated, were appealed to by 
officers whom they loved, were soothed and calmed, 
and finally led back to camp. When day broke, the 
martinet staff-officer was far on his way to join the 
Army of the West. He had saved the Yankees the 
trouble of killing one Southern volunteer. 

The German officer, of the extreme type, can, and 
does, spit into the mouth of the private, the purpose 
being to impress the mind of the private with a sense 
of his vast inferiority — all German officers being 
more or less infected with the “ I and God ” theory 
of the infiated and blatant Kaiser. But the officer 
who would have ventured upon any such experiments 
13 [ 177 ] 


BETHANY 

with a soldier of the South would have paid for it 
with his life. 

What’s become of Toombs ? ” 

They were sitting around the fire, after a day of 
drilling. They all knew of the part which Toombs 
had borne in the political movements leading to seces- 
sion ; they knew that he had been made Secretary of 
State to the Confederate Cabinet, but of late few had 
heard of him. 

Toombs has got a brigade, and he’s down at 
Yorktown, under Magruder,” some one answered. 

Under Magruder ? What can a man like Toombs 
do with a small thing like a brigade ? ” 

Well, I suppose they couldn’t offer him less, and 
were afraid to give him more. You see he has never 
been to Wes’ Pint.” 

Damn Wes’ Pint!” exclaimed Toombs Cullars 
heartily. Cullars had first seen light when young 
Bob Toombs was the rising star of Georgia politics, 
and old Mr. Cullars had been proud to name his boy 
after the brilliant tribune. Toombs Cullars was 
red-headed, bluereyed, stoutly built, not too tall, nor 
too large — in fact, as fine a figure of a medium- 
sized man as you ever clapped eyes on. And, withal, 
he was a jovial blade, loved a glass, loved a lass, and 
played the fiddle. Damn Wes’ Pint ! ” said he, 
with conviction and heartiness. 

“ Why so, Toombs ? ” asked Uncle Ealph. 

[ 178 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


I’ll tell you why/’ answered Cullars. It’s be- 
cause Wes’ Pint men have got hold of this here Con- 
federacy, and are tryin’ to run it on little two-by- 
four Wes’ Pint methods. A great volunteer move- 
ment can’t be run that way. The Southern people 
rose up almost to a man to go into this fight, and 
their enthusiasm was the strongest thing in our 
favor. Jeff Davis is a Wes’ Pint man, and he run 
the War Department under President Pierce in the 
Wes’ Pint way, and now he’s tryin’ to run the Con- 
federate States on the same narrer one-hoss way. I 
tell you it won’t do. The truth is Bob Toombs ought 
to have been President.” 

They told us here last year,” said Uncle Ralph, 
that he came within one vote of getting the nom- 
ination on the secret ballot. They say if he had 
pushed for the place, he might have got it.” 

“ I didn’t know that,” said Cullars. Pity to 
come so close to the mark and then miss.” 

I have heard,” said Uncle Ralph, that Toombs 
would have been made President, anyhow, if it had 
not been for a misunderstanding, and also for a 
slip-up which Toombs himself made.” 

Yes, I know what you mean,” said Cullars, with 
warmth. You mean he got drunk at a big dinner- 
party in Montgomery, and disgusted some of the 
delegates who had intended to vote for him.” 

“ That’s the report,” admitted Uncle Ralph. 

Suppose he did get drunk ! ” exclaimed Cullars. 

[ 179 ] 


BETHANY 


Don’t everybody know that conduct at a dinner 
table is one thing, and conduct at the post of duty 
another ? Didn’t old Sam Houston used to get drunk 
as a biled owl ? Who cared for that when they saw 
him head the charge at San Jacinto and win inde- 
pendence for Texas ? ” 

Uncle Ralph pondered a moment and then re- 
plied : “ Well, I am not the right man to find fault 
with any man for drinking. I’ve done a good deal of 
it myself. And nobody thinks more of Toombs than 
I do ; but I can not much blame delegates from other 
States for not wanting to trust the fortunes of the 
Confederacy to a man who gets drunk.” 

^‘Prejudice! Prejudice! Nothin’ but prejudice!” 
maintained Cullars. Don’t the story-books tell us 
that Alexander the Great got drunk, and his father 
got drunk; and didn’t Daniel Webster get so drunk 
over in Charleston the day the lawyers gave him the 
big dinner that he hadn’t got straight the next day 
when he spoke in Augusta — and he let Charles J. 
Jenkins beat him a-speakin’ ? ” 

There was a jolly laugh all round. Uncle Ralph 
joining in. He resumed in his steady way: 

Well, Davis did not seek the Presidency, and 
was not expecting it. He was not in Alabama at all 
when the election was held. He had to be sent for, 
away out in Mississippi. Nobody doubts that he is 
a smart man and a pure-hearted man. He will do 
all that any man can do. Just now the way to suc- 
[ 180 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 

cess is to be won by the soldiers, not tbe office- 
holders/’ 

“ That’s so ! ” said Cullars, but the soldier can’t 
stand his ground unless he’s fed, clothed, taken care 
of when wounded or sick ; and he can’t put any heart 
into his work unless his family is provided for at 
home. There’s where Toombs would have shown his 
sense. He’s a business man. He’s what they call a 
financier. He wanted the government to issue bonds 
and get in a large supply of cotton, and with this 
cotton establish a credit in Europe on which we 
could get improved guns, ships, war supplies of 
all kinds, and he couldn’t get Davis to listen to 
him.” 

If Davis refused to listen,” replied Uncle Ralph, 
Toombs should have made the Confederate Con- 
gress listen. He had a voice there, and he made 
speeches there. In fact, Mr. Cobb told me he was 
present at a secret session of the Provisional Con- 
gress in Richmond when the very question you refer 
to was discussed. He described to me the bold, dra- 
matic manner in which Toombs, dressed in his new 
Brigadier uniform, dashed into the debate, how forci- 
bly he set forth this very scheme of the Cotton Loan, 
and how enraptured the members of Congress 
seemed to be as they listened to the speech. When 
Toombs sat down, Robert H. Smith of Mobile arose 
and said, ^ Mr. President, if the gentleman from 
Georgia does not bring in bills to carry into effect 
[ 181 ] 


BETHANY 


the suggestion he has made, he is a worse traitor 
than Benedict Arnold/ ” 

What did Smith mean by that ? ” asked Cullars. 

“He meant that, as Toombs knew so well what 
ought to be done, it was his duty to attempt to 
put his plan into practise. Knowing how to save 
his country, he would be false if he didn’t try to 
save it.” 

“ And what did Toombs do ? ” 

“ He did nothing. He had made his speech, had 
had his say, and there he stopped. He kept on abus- 
ing Jeff Davis, drinking fire-water, and damning 
Wes’ Pint.” 

Here the laugh went against Cullars. 

“ A good many people think that Toombs is a 
better hand at tearing down than he is at building 
up,” continued Uncle Kalph quietly. 

“ It’s a great pity,” remarked Dolph Kamsey, 
“ that our leaders are getting so badly split up. Our 
Vice-President is not in harmony with our President ; 
our Secretary of State has got tired of toting the 
archives around in his hat and has become a Briga- 
dier; Joe Johnston is nursing a grievance; and 
Ben Hill and William L. Yancey are at logger- 
heads; and there are some of the Kichmond news- 
papers fighting Jeff Davis as hard as we are fighting 
Abe Lincoln.” 

“ Men will be human, no matter where you put 
’em,” said Cullars, buoyantly. “ When there were 
[ 183 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


only two boys on the face of the earth, one of them 
knocked the other in the head. I reckon the Yankees 
have as many feuds on their side as we have on 
ours.’’ 

I’ll tell you what made Toombs come to the 
army,” a new voice put in sleepily. 

What was it, son ? ” Cullars said encouragingly. 

He had said so d d much about fighting, and 

about the blood he would drink, and about how easy 
it would be for us to whip ’em with corn-stalks, that 
he knew he could never show his face again at home 
unless he did fight.” 

Cullars pounced upon this weak reasoning, as a 
bob-cat bounces a rabbit. 

Why, son, that’s to his credit ! I know some 
other big men who talked about fightin’ just as loud 
as Bob Toombs ever did, and these men are in bomb- 
proofs this very minute, takin’ care o’ their bacon! 
And how is it up North ? Are the men who stirred 
up the war doin’ any fightin’ ? Every dam one of 
the fellows who ripped and raved, until they got the 
people to fightin’, now holds some office, or is hid out 
of sight. Look at old Zach Chandler, who was the 
first to talk about ^ blood lettin’.’ The last one of 
that Abolition gang is wearin’ a long-tailed black 
coat, and stuffin’ his belly on gov’ment pie 1 ” 

There was a regular whoop of horse-laughter, and 
Dolph Ramsey, who gloried in Cullars, shouted : 

Go it, Toombs 1 ” 


[ 183 ] 


BETHANY 


Time to turn in, boys ! ” said my Uncle Ralph, 
and in a few minutes they were sound asleep. 

The men had not been in camp many days before 
orders came to be ready to march at a moment’s 
notice. 

The whole army was to move toward Richmond. 
Cook rations, pack up tents and baggage, load the 
wagons — be ready to move ! Just before set of sun, 
the march of the army began. 

Now, in order that 50,000 soldiers shall break 
camp and fall into line of march a vast deal of work 
is necessary, and the process seems to the outsider 
slow and confused. But it is not. On the contrary 
it is swift and systematic. The huge mass, made up 
of so many regiments, brigades and divisions, has to 
be straightened out in one long column ; a multitude 
of orders fly; endless varieties of minor movements 
occur; but all of them harmonize with the general 
plan and purpose — for the massed army to stretch 
out into a long marching line. 

The Bethany Guards was one of the last com- 
panies ; so that the troops who began the march first 
may have gone forward twenty-five miles before the 
Bethany Guards had moved two hundred yards. 

To the unpractised eye of the recruit, the whole 
camp presented an immense spectacle of confusion — 
confusion of sounds, confusion of movements. The 
beating of drums, the shrill cry of the fife, the loud 
[ 184 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


tones of command, the gallop of horses, the rattle and 
roar of the artillery and wagons, the march of the va- 
rious bodies of troops taking positions and changing 
them — infantry, cavalry, artillery, as far as eye 
could see. It was a grand sight. 

The Bethany Guards marched and halted, marched 
and halted, as the straightening process went on until 
it was dark. They were then not exceeding two 
hundred yards from where they started. The night 
was cloudy and cold; but there was no bivouac, no 
camp-fire, no sleep. March and halt, march and halt ; 
so it was all night long. 

When morning broke, the Bethany Guards were 
about a mile from where they started, but the head 
of the army may have been forty miles from the old 
camp. By this time the apparent confusion was all 
gone; the movement forward became more continu- 
ous, and the halts were few. But at noon a, snow- 
storm set in ; and, while the flakes came down thick 
and fast, the troops marched all that afternoon, 
laughing and yelling as though they were off on a 
frolic. 

Our volunteers happened to be halted for the night 
near an old saw-mill where a good deal of plank was 
on the yard. They built a snug shelter from the 
storm; and while one went for water, another built 
the fire, and another got out the cooking utensils 
from the wagon. The camp-kettle was swung, the 
bake-oven wiped out and placed over the coals, the 
[ 185 ] 


BETHANY 


frying-pan treated to its layer of sliced meat. With 
his large tin cup each soldier made his own coffee, 
out of hot water from the kettle and parched meal 
from the haversack. From the fried meat oozed the 
white grease into which water was poured, and into 
the liberal mixture of grease and water were stirred 
broken bits of crackers. Cooked in the oven or 
frying-pan, this mixture made a very appetizing 
toast. 

The supper was soon finished, and the worn-out 
men lay down to sleep. 

During the night the weather changed; it grew 
warmer, and began raining. Keveille sounded early 
next morning, and after roll call and a breakfast, 
which was a repetition of supper, the march was re- 
sumed. Through mud and slush, sometimes knee- 
deep, the men made a march of some twenty-five or 
thirty miles. Many could not stand it ; they fell out 
of the line from exhaustion. When camp was struck 
that night about half the company were stragglers. 
But the fires had not been lit a great while before the 
missing men began to blunder forward and fall on 
the ground near the fire, utterly done up. Luckily, 
some of the company had got two gallons of apple 
brandy from the baggage-wagons, and this timely 
stimulant improved the situation in a manner which 
would have staggered a teetotaler. The ground was 
wet; it was still raining, and the soldier who could 
find a brush-heap for a bed, while he covered himself 
[186 J 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


with his oilcloth blanket, was fortunate. For once, 
they were too tired to cook supper. 

How much of this they could have stood is uncer- 
tain ; they were now at Louisa Court House, and were 
put in charge of a lot of artillery ammunition on its 
^y r3,il, to Richmond. So they marched no 
more that time, but rode on the cars, to their com- 
plete satisfaction. At Hamilton Crossing, some 
twenty miles from Richmond, the train had to wait 
two hours for a connection. Our soldiers had had 
such a rough time, and had so keenly relished that 
small supply of apple brandy, that they naturally 
thirsted for more. So, as soon as they got to 
Hamilton they began to forage around, hunting 
for something to drink. They found a grocery, 
filled their canteens with apple-jack, and began to 
imbibe joyously. 

Now the captain of the company was one of the 
best old fellows that ever lived. He loved the Lord, 
and wanted everybody else to love Him. If he had 
had his way, every battle would have been opened 
with prayer — as, indeed, is practically done among 
all truly civilized nations — and as to sermons there 
was no man who had a more beautiful confidence in 
the benign efficacy of sermons than this good old 
captain had. 

After he had been waiting half an hour at Hamil- 
ton Crossing, the captain suddenly smote himself 
upon the thigh, as who should say : 

[ 187 ] 


BETHANY 


“ Wliy did I not think of that before ? ’’ 

But it was too late. By the time he assembled 
the men it was plain, even to the captain, that the 
apple-jack had got too much the start. The boys ” 
were tipsy, not noisy, not insulting, not irreverent, 
but just funny. Hymns, sermons, prayers, under 
the circumstances, were not to be thought of, and the 
good captain had to abandon his idea. 

It’s a wonder the train was not blown up on its 
way to Eichmond, for many of the men sat upon the 
ammunition boxes of powder and ball, struck matches 
and smoked. 

When they got to Eichmond they tumbled off the 
cars and broke away from all discipline. It was their 
duty to unload the ammunition and stow it away, 
but they had not the faintest idea of doing so. 

Toombs Cullars sang out: Cap’n, get a lot of 
niggers to unload all that stuff ! Come on, boys, let’s 
take in the town ! ” 

And off they went ! 

The captain was almost beside himself, and the 
way in which he charged around, commanding, plead- 
ing, threatening, and promising was ludicrous. Good 
old fellow he was, and he did his best to keep the 
company from disgracing itself. He would run to 
a squad of his men, halt it sternly, and march it 
back to the train, post it in position, ordering it to 
remain there while he went back to arrest other recre- 
ants. Away he would go, to overtake another squad, 
[ 188 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


arrest it and bring it to the cars : and, lo and behold ! 
by the time his second batch was captured his first 
batch had run away. In despair, the old man had to 
give it up. The company scattered over the city, and 
the captain went into camp with a mere handful of 
Puritans, who did not drink, did not gamble, did 
not — ^well, the handful who are virtuous under the 
most tempting circumstances. It was only after a 
full night and day of license that the recreants strag- 
gled into camp, and resumed the duties of soldiers. 

Richmond was a bustling city at this time, noisy 
with the coming and going of couriers, the tramp of 
marching troops, and the boom of cannon in artillery 
practice. It was known that McClellan was advan- 
cing up the Peninsula, that the Confederates were 
falling back before him, and that in a short while 
the invasion would come within sight of Richmond. 
Hence, there was great uneasiness felt throughout the 
city ; and every energy was being exerted to prepare 
for the battles which would soon be fought. 

The soldiers enjoyed a good deal of liberty, and 
they had curiosity enough to want to see all the sights 
in Richmond. 

The building wherein the Confederate Congress 
was holding its sessions naturally attracted many vis- 
itors. A Georgian, sitting in the gallery of the 
Senate, felt an especial interest in such an assembly 
when he saw Alec ” Stephens in the President’s 
chair. On the floor of the hall he would often see 
[ 189 ] 


BETHANY 


Bob Toombs and Ben Hill. It might have happened 
that he would be lucky enough to witness a passage- 
at-arms between Ben Hill and the great William L. 
Yancey, for they were constantly pitted against each 
other. Ben Hill being the champion of the adminis- 
tration and Yancey the leader of the opposition, it 
was a common thing for these two to make the fur fly. 
Yancey saw, or believed he saw, that Jeff Davis’s ad- 
ministration was tending toward the same undemo- 
cratic methods and measures which had caused Ala- 
bama to leave the Union. It may be that the habit 
of denouncing systems is a habit that grows upon the 
denouncer, until he is not happy unless he is denouno 
ing something. On the other hand, it may be that 
Yancey was right, was consistent, was a persevering 
patriot who realized that all human government does 
need watching ; and who was sincerely solicitous that 
our new government should begin right, and stay 
right. It was understood that Mr. Stephens was also 
dissatisfied with the Davis methods, and was taking 
mighty little interest in public affairs. Most of his 
time was spent in visiting the sick and the wounded. 
Lifelong suffering had given him a boundless pity 
for all who were on beds of pain, and he was an angel 
of mercy to many a poor fellow in the Eichmond 
hospitals. 

It was no unusual thing to see President Davis 
on horseback about the streets, riding to the camps 
and back. He was a thin, sharp-faced man, of erect 
[ 190 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


carriage, and set face, and precise, formal ways. 
There was no especial magnetism in his manner. 
He stood for the cause, typified the embattled South, 
represented us all in the highest office. Therefore, 
as he rode out among the military men, clad in gray, 
and superbly mounted — presenting altogether a strik- 
ing, martial figure — he was always welcomed with 
cheers. 

In the camp near Richmond, drilling was the reg- 
ular order. Raw materials were fashioned into ex- 
pert soldiers as fast as possible; and our recruits 
found all the hard, tedious work they wanted. Never- 
theless, there was much idle time to be devoted to 
games of amusement, to letter-writing, to reading, to 
card-playing. 

The liveliest event of each day was the arrival of 
the mail-carrier. As soon as he was espied on the 
outskirts of the camp, the homesick men would make 
a break for him ; and he would soon be surrounded by 
eager, clamorous soldiers dying for a letter from 
home. Sometimes the mail-boy would be almost 
smothered in the crush. Men on the outside of the 
group trying to push in, those on the inside trying 
to get out so that they could read their letters — ^there 
would be a scuffle before the mob could untangle itself. 

One day a soldier from North Carolina wedged 
his way into the crowd, grabbed a letter, and broke 
through the ring to the outside, with something 
which suggested unusual temper and determination. 

[ 191 ] 


BETHANY 


Tearing open the soiled envelope, he began to wrestle 
with the scrawling lines, traced with pale ink on 
coarse paper, torn from an old account-hook. As 
he read his excitement increased, and his manner 
soon attracted notice. 

What’s the matter. Bill ? Hope nothin’s wrong 
at home,” said one of his comrades. 

The soldier with the letter in his hand took his 
questioner by the arm, walking him to one side, and 
muttered : 

I don’t want to talk before everybody, but 

d d if I ain’t almos’ crazy. This is the third 

time Nancy has wrote to me that she’s about to starve 
to death. She’s too weak to work, and the child’en’s 
too little to do anything, and she wants me to come 
home.” 

Well, can’t you git a furlough ? ” asked his 
friend. 

Tried and couldn’t. I ain’t got no influence. I’m 
po’ white trash, and I’ve got ter stick here in this 

d d camp while my wife’s hungry and my 

child’en’s cryin’ fer bread.” 

Where’s yer neighbors. Bill ? Ain’t yer got no 
near neighbors in North Caliny able and willin’ to 
take keer o’ yer fam’ly ? ” 

Fiercely clenching his flst, he raised his hand, 
shook his fist and letter violently : 

“ Neighbors? D ^n it all! There’s where the 

hell of it is ! Wdien all this thing fust started, and 
[ 193 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


everybody went wiF, and everybody was singin’ war- 
songs and a-wboopin’ and a-bollerin’ fer Dixie and 

Bonnie Blue Flag, ev’ry d ^n spouter who made 

speeches told us that if we’d jine the army an’ hurry 
ter the front the folks at home would take keer our 
wives and child’en ! Now read that letter ! ” 

The comrade did so, and handed it back without 
a word. There was nothing to be said. The poor, 
frail wife, away off in some backwoods settlement 
in North Carolina, either was, or thought she was, 
neglected by her neighbors, forgotten by those who 
had encouraged her husband to enlist. With the nat- 
ural impulse of lonely wife and helpless mother, she 
begged her husband to come home. She probably 
knew of other soldiers who had come home on fur- 
loughs, and she thought her husband could get one, 
too. But Richmond was now in danger, threatened 
by McClellan’s army of 150,000 men; and furloughs 
could not be had, excepting in extreme cases. 

Next morning at roll-call, the North Carolina man 
was missing. 

Measles broke out in the camps, and the hospitals 
were crowded. Our friend Cullars was one of those 
sent in to be doctored, and came back so soon that he 
was questioned by his comrades. 

I had enough of it,” explained Cullars. The 
doctors and the nurses showed less feelin’ for the 
sick soldiers than one of our farmers would show a 
14 [ 193 ] 


BETHANY 

sick mule; and I shouldered myself and marched 
out.” 

It was now the middle of May, and McClellan 
was close upon the Confederate capital. 

The Army of Northern Virginia was made ready 
for a general engagement. Bodies of troops were 
seen in motion, couriers dashed hack and forth, guns 
boomed in the distance. 

At last our company heard the bugler sound the 
assembly call to arms: the old captain is ordered to 
the front! A yell of enthusiasm greets the news. 
Tents are struck, knapsacks packed, the line of march 
formed, and in two hours our recruits get their first 
view of Yankees in battle array. They are on the 
other side of the Chickahominy. It is night, and 
thousands of camp-fires glare as far as one can see. 
The thunderous roll of drums, the strains of brass 
bands resounding far and near, proclaimed the pres- 
ence of a mighty host. 

On our side also the camp-fires glowed, the drums 
beat, the bands played — challenge given, challenge 
accepted ; host to host, a fight to the death. 

The Bethany Guards did not sleep any too much 
that night. It was a time for solemn thoughts. There 
was no card-playing, no festive seven-up or poker 
that night : the soldier who had the deck took it out 
of his pocket and threw the cards away. There was 
much melancholy talk about the folks at home. There 
was more or less dread of what would happen on the 
[ 194 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


morrow. Not infrequently some soldier would say, 

Boys, I’m going to be killed to-morrow,” and be 
would make what final dispositions he could for that 
dread event, including last messages for loved ones. 
Had their good old captain come around and sug- 
gested something devotional, he would have met with 
a greater degree of success than had crowned his ef- 
forts that day at Hamilton Crossing. 

With the break of day the battle began. The roar 
of musketry was terrific, and the cannons boomed, 
boomed, boomed, as the lines on our side rushed to 
the attack. As the Bethany Guards pressed onward 
they passed dead men, and mangled men screaming 
in their agony. Some of the wounded, covered with 
blood, were able to walk to the rear: others were 
carried by on litters: others still were so torn, so 
evidently in the throes of death, that they could not 
be moved. And as the eye caught these ghastly de- 
tails, and then looked far ahead, there was seen the 
firing-line, and men in it falling, falling, falling, 
everywhere. It was awful! 

The captain of the Bethany Guards was a cool 
hand, and the company was handled all right. It 
did its duty ; but had not been sent into the thick of 
the fight 

When darkness put an end to the carnage, the 
Yankees had been driven backward; and our com- 
pany pitched camp where the battle had raged — sat 
down to eat among the dead and the dying ; lay down 

[ 195 ] 


BETHANY 


to sleep amid groans, and white faces which stared 
upward to the stars with fixed, staring, unseeing 
eyes! 

Some of the soldiers who had been certain they 
would be killed, had been killed ; others who had been 
equally certain, had not been hit. And there were 
others who, on the night before the battle, had been 
the gayest, least apprehensive, were out there on the 
field, shot to pieces. 

Presentiments are like dreams; they challenge at- 
tention and defy explanation; they dare you to he 
indifferent, and they mock you when you trust them. 

The Battle of Seven Pines, fought almost at the 
gates of Richmond, was ended; both sides claimed 
the victory; General Johnston was wounded; Gen- 
eral Lee was in command. 

Then Stonewall Jackson shot up into sudden, 
world-wide fame because of his Valley Campaign; 
and Stuart with his brilliant horsemen made his 
Ride around McClellan. Lee, who in the petty West 
Virginia operations had shown the awkwardness of 
a Hercules at the distaff, now rose to the height of 
his great opportunity; and, having a gigantic task, 
handled it like a giant. 

Gathering up all his strength — Jackson, Long- 
street, the Hills and Stuart — ^he fell upon the Union 
host and hurled it hack. 

Then we lost our heads, I fear, and began that 
series of headlong attacks upon the retiring Federals 

[ 196 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


which caused us such immense loss. McClellan was 
not demoralized: his force was well in hand: when- 
ever he stopped he intrenched: and whenever he 
hit back at us we got hurt. At Mechanicsville 
he repulsed us, though on the next day we double- 
teamed on one section of his army as it was crossing 
the Chickahominy, and would have destroyed it had 
daylight lasted a little longer. 

Day after day, the army advanced and fought, as 
McClellan withdrew, fighting at Savage Station, 
Frazer’s Farm, and in White Oak Swamp. The 
abandoned fields were littered with the spoil of war — 
guns, knapsacks, blankets, clothing and provisions. 
Huge was the joy of the Confederates when they 
captured a barrel of coffee — sure enough coffee — 
already ground and sugared! Nothing to do but 
measure a tablespoonful into the tin cup, add water, 
boil, and drink. 

Stretched under a new tent, found on the field, 
drinking hot coffee, and eating the very best food the 
North could supply, our recruits enjoyed themselves 
in spite of the horrors and the dangers which sur- 
rounded them — so soon does the soldier get used to 
bloodshed. 

I saw Jeff Davis to-day,” said Collars, as he 
sipped his second cup of sugared coffee. 

What makes you think so ? ” some one asked. 

General Lee come ridin’ up not far from where 
I was, and said to a courier, ^ Gallop to that house 
[ 197 ] 


BETHANY 


yonder and tell the President that the enemy are 
about to open a battery upon it/ and off galloped the 
courier. General Lee set there on his horse, cool as 
a cucumber, his felt hat sorter pulled down to shade 
his face — as fine a figure of a soldier as I ever saw. 
Pretty soon I saw some fellows come breakin’ out o^ 
that house, gallopin’ to’ards us as fast as they could 
spur, and they had hardly started before the Yankee 
battery opened on that house. President Davis and 
General Magruder was together, and when they got 
up to where General Lee was they all sorter laughed 
as they looked back and saw the shells scatterin’ that 
house.” 

What sort o’ lookin’ man is Jeff Davis? ” asked 
Eamsey. 

Well, sir, he looks like a man whose victuals 
didn’t do him no good. He ain’t got no fiesh and no 
color. He looks lean, scrawny, hollow-faced, and he’s 
thin chested, longish and narrer. He sets a horse 
well enough, and his eyes are full of fire, and when 
he speaks it’s a manly voice you hear, but. Lord ! by 
the side of General Lee he don’t show off at all.” 

And there are not many men in this world who 
would,” remarked Uncle Ealph. 

^^Now you’re talkin’,” said Cullars. As for 
looks, there’s none o’ them can hold a candle to Gen- 
eral Lee, ’ceptin’ Bob Toombs, and that cavalry 
feller, Jeb Stuart.” 

Ever seen Joe Johnston?” inquired Cullars, 

[ 198 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


sampling Northern provisions freely. He directed 
his question to Uncle Ralph. 

Yes, I was at Manassas — saw him plain enough, 
before and after. He’s a fine lookin’ man, too, but 
not like Lee. He’s smaller every way, and dried up, 
stiff, and stem looking. His talk’s as curt as a whip. 
But the soldiers loved him. He’s a cautious general.” 

Wish he hadn’t been so d d cautious after 

Manassas,” blurted Cullars. 

“ Why ? ” asked Uncle Ralph sharply. 

Because if he had had half of Jackson’s push 
and nerve, he’d have gone into Washington, and 
ended the war. Old Stonewall said he could have 
done it with ten thousand men. The Yankees were 
all scattered and demoralized. There was nothin’ to 
stop our boys from takin’ Washington.” 

All right, Cullars, that may be so,” answered 
Uncle Ralph, but how could we have held Wash- 
ington after we took it ? ” 

Easy enough,” hotly rejoined Cullars. S’pose 
we’d gone in and fortified ; wasn’t it as easy for our 
side to rush reinforcements to us as it would have 
been for their side to get help to them ? ” 

^^And besides,” remarked Ramsey, “had John- 
ston taken Washington, which is a Southern city, 
and held to it with all his strength, reinforcements 
would have poured in, not from the seceded States 
only, but from Maryland: and the doubtful border 
States would have joined us.” 

[ 199 ] 


BETHANY 


Well,” said Ralph, “ it^s not fair to unload all 
the blame on Johnston, for Beauregard was there, 
too, and so was J eff Davis. Anyhow, there^s no use 
grieving over spilt milk; and we might as well 
turn in.” 

McClellan, still retiring, took up a tremendously 
strong position at Malvern Hill, overlooking James 
River — the same place occupied by Lafayette just 
previous to the siege of Cornwallis in Yorktown. 
No troops in the world ever had a better position to 
repulse an assault than McClellan had selected and 
fortified. To approach him, the Confederates must 
come across a wide wheat-field where the cannon on 
the heights had fairest play. To send men into that 
open plain, to march over it, and to ascend to the 
assault of those bristling works on the hill seemed 
madness. Oh, that bloody July day! 

For half a mile the doomed men of the South had 
to march across the wheat-field, devoured by as 
deadly a hail of balls as ever rained from well-planted 
batteries. 

The Bethany Guards were first drawn up in the 
ravine. From here they charged into the open, on 
through the level ground, on up the hill, to the very 
muzzle of the guns. Yankee cannoneers draw back 
their guns, and another line of infantry rises up. 
That is also driven, and the guns are drawn back 
again. The noise is deafening, the confusion terri- 
ble, the rage of battle consuming. Men load and 
[ 200 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


fire, not able to distinguish the report of their own 
guns. The flash, the roar, the shout, the rushes of 
desperate men, the plunging here and there of horses 
— it was frightful. 

The colors are down ! Whereas the color-guard ? ” 

Toombs Cullars had hardly shouted the words be- 
fore Uncle Ralph had darted forward with the speed 
of a deer — in a moment he was waving the flag, high 
over his head, his hat gone, his face blazing with 
excitement. The colors advanced ; the men rushed on. 

Another line of bluecoats rose up, a quick volley 
was fired, and Uncle Ralph reeled. He was hit in 
the arm. Ramsey seized the standard, and Ralph 
was helped to the rear by Toombs Cullars. 

As they painfully and slowly made their way, 
stumbling among the dying and the dead, they passed 
a large, tall, red-faced man, who was holding to a 
limb. 

Where are you going ? ” he called out, roughly. 

Cullars pointed to Ralph’s dangling arm. 

That man’s got to go back ! ” shouted the other, 
who was dressed in general’s uniform, and attended 
by several staff-officers. 

Cullars turned to go back, but when he let go of 
Uncle Ralph, the latter fell. Without another word, 
or a moment’s hesitation, Cullars took hold of Ralph 
again, and helped him off the field. 

The general was left hanging on to his limb. It 
was Magimder — drunk as a lord. 

[201 ] 


BETHANY 


In the Cobb^s Legion Hospital, a little one-room 
shantj, Uncle Kalph was lucky enough to find a cot. 
The surgeons were busy as bees. The ghastly knives 
and saws — they were making a butcher pen affair of 
it. As legs and arms were cut off, they were tossed 
under the table, till the pile reached the under side 
of it. What agonies! What pitiful groans and 
moans ! What screams I 

That night it rained. The little shanty could only 
accommodate a few. Ambulance service was bad; 
and many a poor fellow who had never known sick- 
ness or pain, save amid comforts and the tender 
nursing of loved ones, lay on the soaked ground 
all night, his wounds undressed, dying of sheer 
neglect. 

Next morning General Magruder sought General 
Lee, and asked permission to renew the assault. 

Don’t do it. General. You might hurt some of 
my men who are up there reconnoitering.” 

McClellan had abandoned the hill during the 
night, and was safe — under the protection of his gun- 
boats on the J ames. 

McClellan had “ changed his base ” ; there was no 
further fighting, and the Bethany Guards were 
marched back to Kichmond. 

One day the captain came around, looking very 
grave, and he said, Boys, we have a bad job on 
hand this morning. Get ready for duty.” 

[ 202 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


What is it, Captain ? ’’ 

There is a deserter to be shot.” 

A shock, a thrill of pain and aversion ran through 
the whole company. 

In a short while a detail drove a stake into the 
ground until about three feet of it was left above the 
surface. 

Then the soldiers drew lots from a hat held by an 
officer — the men who were to shoot the deserter were 
being chosen. 

Another squad of soldiers loaded twelve guns, six 
with powder and ball, six with powder only. 

A black coffin was brought and put down, off to one 
side. 

There was an order issued, and the guard brought 
forward the condemned — ^he whom the court-martial 
had tried, and had condemned to he shot. 

It was the man from North Carolina! He had 
gone home to provide for his wife and children, had 
been arrested there by the authorities, and had been 
brought back. And his wife and two little girls were 
here to see him die I 

Great God ! I canT stand this ! ” muttered 
Toombs Cullars. Hush ! ” said the old captain 
sternly. 

The doomed man’s head was up, his bearing 
manly. There wasn’t a drop of coward blood in him. 
And his voice rang clear and true : 

Boys, I didn’t mean to desert. I meant toi come 

[ 203 ] 


BETHANY 

back. I couldn’t bear to let my wife and little girls 
starve ! ” 

How the breasts of the soldiers heaved, how their 
throats did choke ! 

The old captain’s face was white, very white. 

The poor stricken wife moaned and wept : the little 
girls clung to her skirts. 

Good-by, Nancy,” and he hugged his wife. 

Good-by, Susie ! ” and he lifted his oldest child 
and kissed her, and sat her down. 

Good-by, Dora ! ” and he kissed his baby 
girl — ^kissed her twice as he held her aloft in his . 
arms. 

Now I’m ready ! ” and he faced the guns. 

His twelve comrades stood twenty steps away, no 
man of the twelve knowing whether his gun carried 
ball, or powder only. 

They made the condemned man kneel at the stake, 
tied his hands behind him and on the other side of the 
stake; they lashed him securely to the stake so that 
he could not move, and they offered to put a bandage 
over his eyes. 

No. I’m not afraid. I ain’t done nothin’ I’m 
ashamed of. I didn’t desert.” That was his last 
word. 

Keady ! Aim ! Eire ! ” 

The woman screamed, covering her face and turn- 
ing it away, and the little girls huddled and hid in 
her arms: the North Carolinian’s head dropped on 
[ 304 ] 


ONCE MORE TO THE FRONT 


his breast — ^the bullets had riddled him, through and 
through. 

That night a pall hung over the camp. Nothing 
else was talked of but the execution. There was 
great sympathy for the unfortunate man, and much 
was said about the severity of military discipline. 

War is hell ! ” said Cullars with emphasis. 

So is life anywhere else, if you get under the 
wheels,” remarked a comrade. 

The loser pays. I’m sorry for the dead man, 
but he took his risk. He knew what the law was.” 

But then think of the appeals made to him by 
his wife,” said Cullars. 

Here Dolph Ramsey intervened. Boys, let’s, 
look at the thing right. We are all engaged in a holy 
cause. We must save the South. To do that the 
army is needed. How can you keep an army to- 
gether if you let every fellow go home when he wants 
to ? In order to keep him at the post of duty even 
after he gets tired and wants to quit, you must make 
severe rules and enforce them. 

Now this man ought not to have gone home with- 
out a furlough. His wife had only to make her 
wants known, had only to pick up her children and 
walk to the nearest farm-house or country town in 
North Carolina and make her condition known, to 
have got food, shelter and protection. 

Who ever heard of anybody, white or black, 
starving to death in any Southern State ? ” 

[306 ] 


BETHANY 


That’s so,” assented Cullars. Nobody ever 
did. And that poor man’s wife wouldn’t ’a’ done it 
either. Without intendin’ it, she egged on her hus- 
band to his death ! ” 

That’s about the fact,” rejoined Kamsey, and 
no more was said. 


[»06 ] 


CHAPTER V. 


A NEW PASTOR 

One Sunday in the Spring of 1862, our old pastor 
rather startled his congregation by putting up ” to 
preach the morning sermon a young man whom few 
of those present knew. 

As he rose from the sofa back of the pulpit, and 
came forward to the desk where the Bible and Hymn- 
book lay, there was a general straightening up ” 
in the congregation and a hush of expectant interest. 

Inasmuch as I shall have a good deal to say about 
this minister of the gospel, let me describe him. He 
was not above the medium height; was very stout, 
and had small, thick hands which had never known 
manual labor. He had bright, brown eyes; a high, 
white forehead; and a strong chin. His mouth was 
large, the expression genially kind; but it carried 
also the impression that its owner had his share of 
all the wholesome, natural appetites. When I came 
to know him intimately, his character seemed to me 
like an open book. His heart was the home of gen- 
erous impulse ; yet the small eye, which suggested 
[ 207 ] 


BETHANY 


shrewdness, told a true tale. He had ever a sensible 
instinct for the safe side. His high forehead prom- 
ised intellect, and he had it; and the mouth, which 
suggested animal enjoyment, was not belied. The 
bulging crease or dewlap under his eyes made one 
think of that same peculiarity in Toombs, and in 
every other great natural orator. 

If you were so fortunate as to hear this young min- 
ister, when he was at his best, it would at once occur 
to you that he might be a power in the land, if he 
would earnestly give his mind to that purpose. But 
when you studied his walk, lumbering, slow and roll- 
ing ; when you noted how he detested all bodily exer- 
tion ; when you noticed that he never mounted a horse 
or took any sort of regular exercise, you said to 
yourself : He will never be willing to pay the 

cruelly exorbitant price which Fame exacts at the 
door.’’ 

His father had stood well in the Baptist ministry ; 
and he had sent Euel, the favorite son, to the college 
which Jesse Mercer had established at Penfield. 
Euel had hardly been consulted at all. His father 
had willed it : and he was a man whom children dared 
not resist. Not that Euel had wished it otherwise: 
on the contrary, he liked the plan. He had tried his 
wits in schoolboy debating societies, had been highly 
pleased with the results, and felt a natural inclina- 
tion to indulge his love of public speaking. Such 
being the case, what field was more congenial than 
[ 308 ] 


A NEW PASTOR 


the ministry? In this matter-of-fact manner, Enel 
had gone to Penfield, and the great Doctor Mell had 
made a preacher out of him. 

The sermon which Euel delivered on this, his first 
trial at Bethany, was a success. It was well con- 
ceived, well arranged, well expressed, well delivered. 
It was sound in the doctrine, conformable to good 
taste, and saturated with good feeling. 

When the young minister closed, there was an ap- 
proving buzz throughout the audience. In our 
hearts, we Baptists felt good. Ministerially, we had 
been a trifie weak in Bethany; and the Methodists 
had rather crowed over us. Doctrinal sermons had 
been preached at us; and our raw spots — close- 
communion and infant baptism, particularly — had 
been rudely rubbed. Now, however, things would be 
different. The Methodists would no longer have 
everything their own way. If old Brother Selvidge, 
or Elder Kush, fiung at us Baptists any more flouts 
about doctrinal points, we now had a man who could 
talk back, and who could rub their raw spots a 
bit. Oh, yes ! — things would be different from now 
out. 

Consequently, when Euel Wade came down from 
the pulpit steps, at the close of the services, he was 
surrounded. Everybody wanted to grip his hand, 
and exchange a word. Older people, who had heard 
his father when in his prime, proudly told Euel that 
he was a chip off the old block.” Those who were 
15 [ 209 ] 


BETHANY 

not personally acquainted with, him came up to be 
introduced. 

Squire Eoherts, who dearly loved a strict Bap- 
tist, insisted that the minister should go home with 
him to dinner, and Euel could not decline. In the 
old-fashioned, rockaway carriage, the young preacher 
was driven, at a leisurely gait, to the Roberts home — 
the Squire himself being the driver of the two 
mules which drew the vehicle. 

The Squire was not a rich man, hut he was in 
good circumstances. He owned a moderately fruit- 
ful farm of four hundred acres, had a bunch of 
slaves, and managed to get out of life about all that 
there is in it. He was eminently respectable; a 
stalwart Baptist ; and a sound Democrat. Otherwise, 
he was not a very positive character. Three square 
meals a day, however, he made a point of; and a 
Sunday dinner without potato pudding would have 
appeared to him a tame function. Apple dumpling 
was understood in the household to be a permissible 
substitute, hut one or other of these had to come. 
Otherwise, there would be mutterings, naggings, con- 
trariness and sulks. 

The Squire must have been related, in some de- 
gree, to that other citizen of Georgia whose specialty 
was chicken pie; and who entailed his fad on help- 
less posterity by building a hotel at Smithville, and 
so fixing the lease or the title in such a way that 
as long as the hotel remains in existence chicken 
[ 310 ] 


A NEW PASTOR 


pie must be placed on the dinner table every day, 
the year round. No matter how often the house 
changes hands, no matter what the individual taste 
of the lessee or manager may be, the chicken pie con- 
dition cannot be shirked. I have myself often 
stopped for dinner at Smithville, for it is a railroad 
junction and eating-place, and I have seen the 
chicken pie ordinance in actual operation. At a 
hazard, I would say that the weariness of the land- 
lord is only exceeded by the fatigue of the boarders 
in bearing up under the galling slavery of this end- 
less chain of chicken pies. 

The eloquence with which Ruel had preached in 
the morning had not impaired his appetite. His en- 
joyment of a good dinner was evident the moment 
he took his seat at the table. He ate without fin- 
icky discrimination. He ate like one who had con- 
fidence in the cook. He was not nervously and 
squeamishly spying around to see whether there were 
things in the dishes which had no business- there. He 
fed himself confidently, generously, like a man in 
whom a splendid vitality unblushingly exacts ade- 
quate provision. 

When the potato pudding stage of the dinner was 
reached, he consumed his share with relish — indeed, 
it was good pudding! — and completely won the 
heart of host and hostess by asking : 

May I have just another bit of the pudding ? ” 
[311 ] 


BETHANY 


The pleasure which shone through the Squire’s 
specs was good to see, and Mrs. Roberts looked 
flattered. 

After dinner came an adjournment to the parlor, 
where Nellie played some sacred music on the piano, 
the preacher’s untrained hut not unpleasant voice 
accompanying her songs. 

Before long the Squire yearned for his pipe and 
his after-dinner nap ; and he excused himself. 
Household matters soon called Mrs. Roberts from the 
room also. The preacher and the maiden were left 
together in the parlor. 

Will you be patient while I describe this room ? 

It was large, with high ceilings, four windows, 
an ample fire-place, and any number of doors. 
Every room on the first floor seemed to open into this 
and it had one large door opening on the front porch. 
The walls were papered in a quiet, homely, neutral 
tint ; there was no carpet on the floor, but in the fire- 
place was a massive pair of brass andirons, with 
brass fender; and upon the walls were four pictures 
which, to my uneducated eye, seemed beautiful — ex- 
tremely beautiful. I think yet that they were beau- 
tiful, but that may be on account of the associations, 
for they were a part and parcel of the by-gone life 
which was very dear to me; and when I gaze upon 
the pictures now, that long-passed time rises once 
more, and the old familiar faces smile upon me as 
they used to do. There was a centre-table of mahog- 
[ 212 ] 


A NEW PASTOR 


any, witli claw-feet : upon this table stood a few books 
of the ^^Friendship’s offering” kind; and a silver 
water pitcher, which rested upon a tray and was 
flanked by silver drinking cups. 

Upon another table, shoved back against the wall, 
was the most beautiful collection of sea-shells I ever 
saw; and two large vases in which were held gor- 
geous masses of native swamp-fems, fallow-field 
grasses and broom, overtopped by a few stalks of 
native wild-oat and goldenrod. Gathered in Sep- 
tember and October, these ferns and grasses had the 
mellow richness of color that is the glory of Indian 
Summer. 

On the right-hand side of the fire-place stood the 
familiar, ante-bellum book-case of mahogany, with 
glass doors, and a chest of drawers beneath the 
book-shelves. In this handsome piece of furniture 
was kept what Squire Roberts complacently called 
his library. Indeed, it was the best and largest 
collection of books to be seen anywhere for miles 
around. Counting the volumes which had been 
loaned out to honorable people, and which the 
Squire yet hoped might some day be returned, 
the library consisted of one hundred and twenty- 
five volumes. 

Nellie and the preacher could not spend the 
whole afternoon in singing; in fact, the old people 
had not been gone many minutes before Ruel’s 
memory failed to suggest another hymn ; and Nellie 
[ 313 ] 


BETHANY 


in turning tlie leaves was not able to find anything 
of especial interest. So they began to talk. I wonder 
if there ever was a warm-blooded young man of 
twenty-two who, being alone with a pretty girl, did 
not feel moved to conversation. 

Kuers glance had rested upon the book-case more 
than once, when Nellie, reading his thought, opened 
the glass doors. He came to her side, and began to 
run his eye over the volumes. Reaching out his 
hand, Ruel took Paradise Lost ” and opened it. 

You have read this ? ’’ he asked. 

Yes ; that is, part of it. To read it through con- 
tinuously, I have found impossible.” 

He smiled and said: Your honesty commands 
respect. Pew people really read the book. It is con- 
sidered good form to be familiar with ^ Paradise 
Lost,’ but few enjoy it. Some day the critics will 
gather courage to say that it contains much poor 
stuff.” 

Por instance ? ” 

Well, take Milton’s description of the battle in 
the heavens between the hosts of Lucifer and the 
hosts of the Lord; could anything be more clumsy 
and less impressive ? He represents Jehovah as using 
cannon against the fallen angels. Is there anywhere 
in literature a more repulsive picture than that which 
makes God an artillery officer who uses cannon to 
defeat immortal spirits ? ” 

She smiled slightly and answered : It does seem 
[314 ] 


A NEW PASTOR 


that, if all the lightnings and all the other dread 
powers of Omnipotence were incapable of destroying 
Satan, mere cannon would fail.’’ 

Furthermore,” continued the preacher, Milton 
has stolen a great deal of his thunder from a Dutch 
epic called ^ Lucifer.’ This plagiarism will be duly 
exposed one of these days.” 

He replaced the book, and took down another. 

Poor Bums ! Miss Nellie, have you ever read 
his epistles to Davy, and his lines on the field 
mouse ? ” 

Often. But the sweetest words he ever wrote 
were ‘ To Mary in Heaven.’ ” 

“ You think so ? Well, I’m not so sure of that. 
But of this I am certain, you might hum the Decla- 
ration of Independence and forget Magna Charta, 
and still find the creed of all manly men in Burns’s 
^ A man’s a man for a’ that ’ ! ” 

He then told her the story connected with the poem 
— that Burns had been invited to some grand house 
in Edinburgh, where he was expected to furnish en- 
tertainment for the high-bom guests; that he had 
been taken to the kitchen, where he was made to wait 
till the grandees had dined ; that he was then sent for 
to amuse the company. Instead, he strode into the 
room defiantly, recited his famous poem, and flung 
out at the door, maddened at the humiliation put 
upon him. 

She listened with rapt attention, and when the 

[ 215 ] 


BETHANY 


story was done, there was a tear in her eye, and her 
bosom heaved with emotion. 

The young preacher continued : 

It saddens me when I think of Burns. The last 
glimpse the outside world gets of him is on that day 
in Dumfries when the respectable people of the 
neighborhood were assembling to some social function 
to which Burns had not been invited, and he slouched 
along on the opposite side of the way, alone, shunned, 
shrinking off to his squalid hut.’’ 

“ Why was he not invited ? ” she asked. 

Because he had become, as local respectability 
assumed, too disreputable. He was a drunkard, you 
know, and a — that is, he was almost an outcast.” 

And now all Scotland loves his name ; and all 
the world loves his poems,” she said. It seems most 
cruel.” 

Such is life,” the preacher answered. The 
world is full of just such inequalities, inequities, 
cruel misfortune. We had in this country an in- 
stance somewhat similar. Edgar Poe wore his life 
out writing poems and stories which few admired, 
and which brought him no reward. Now that he is 
dead, we are beginning to realize that he was a genius 
— perhaps the most original and profound America 
has produced.” 

He also was intemperate, was he not ? ” she 
asked. 

Occasionally so. The vast amount of work he 
[ 316 ] 


A NEW PASTOR 


did in so short a time, and the exquisitely careful 
finish apparent in most of this work, will always be, 
to considerate thinkers, the highest, best proof that 
Poe’s drunkenness amounted to little more than an 
occasional spree.” 

It is a pity to think that he died, just as his 
fortunes seemed to be brightening. He was almost 
like a way-worn traveler who falls exhausted when 
home and loved ones are in sight.” 

She said this with much feeling; and the look 
which they exchanged was that of two people who 
felt that they understood each other. Few delights 
are purer than that which we discover in the con- 
genial mind. 

“ Yes,” he resumed, had Edgar Poe been strong 
enough to resist that gang of ward-heelers who de- 
bauched him and dragged him all over the city re- 
peating his vote — or in other words, had he stopped 
in Baltimore on any other day than the day of the 
election, he might not have been picked up from the 
gutter, unconscious and dying.” 

She sighed and her lips trembled: Ruel’s manner 
was so earnest that the imagination, with little ef- 
fort, could reproduce that frightful tragedy. 

‘ The Raven ’ is considered his masterpiece, is 
it not ? ” she asked, to break the silence. 

Yes, and perhaps it is. But the explanation 
which Poe himself wrote, analyzing and dissecting 
the poem, and describing how he came to compose it, 
[217 ] 


BETHANY 


destroyed its charm to me. It was so cold-blooded, 
mechanical, prosaic. Who wants an orator to expose 
the process by which he gets his speech together? 
Who wants the daintily attired beauty to publish the 
mysteries of the toilet ? ’’ 

This blunt remark brought a tinge of scarlet to 
the cheek of the girl, and she hastily rejoined: 

It is true that ‘ The Kaven ’ exerts a weird fasci- 
nation over all who read it, but I like better that 
little poem of Poe, entitled ‘ For Annie.’ ” 

So do I ! So do I ! ” he exclaimed eagerly. 

^ The Eaven ’ suggests labored construction, a reso- 
lute and premeditated purpose to be sad and despair- 
ing. In the lines ^ For Annie,’ there is no such for- 
mality or apparent effort. The flow of the verse is 
like the running of water; and the marvelous hand- 
ling of the words, the profound melancholy they 
breathe, paints true to life what must have been the 
broken heart of the husband, who was so poor that 
he had to keep the freezing cold from his dying wife 
by spreading his overcoat upon the bed ! ” 

It was good to look upon his manly face as he 
said this. 

Evidently his heart was in the right place; and 
whoever this man should love might feel sure of 
riches. 

Then he read to her that poem of the ill-starred 
genius which is, perhaps, the most suggestive he ever 
wrote, Eldorado.” When it was flnished he said, 
[21S] 


A NEW PASTOR 


In many ways, expression lias been given to man^s 
yearning for the unattainable, but I do not know of 
any poet who has given it better expression than Poe 
has done in these lines.” 

It reminds me of the lines called ^ Carcassonne,’ 
written by a Frenchman,” she said. But the en- 
trance of Squire Roberts and his wife stopped the 
talk about books, and caused the conversation to drift 
to the war ; and the afternoon thus wore away, until 
the young preacher said good-by, and returned to 
town. 

As he slowly sauntered along the road, his short 
walk of two miles found him unusually reflective; 
and he discovered that his thoughts dwelt persistently 
upon the lovely girl from whom he had just parted. 
She interested him; there was no doubt about that. 
He liked her; there was no doubt about that. He 
found himself saying mentally, This is an exceed- 
ingly handsome girl, a lady-like girl, an intelligent 
girl, a warm-hearted, sympathetic girl.” 

To this extent, he was sure of his facts. Then 
his thoughts shaped certain interrogatories, directed 
to his prudence and his judgment. 

“ What must be my future attitude toward her ? 
Shall I cultivate her acquaintance, or not ? Shall I 
accept any further invitations which carry me there ? 
Shall I visit the lady herself, and thus put myself 
among her admirers ? ” 

To these questions he could frame no very satis- 
[ 319 ] 


BETHANY 


factory answer; and the decision was adjourned to 
that future in which chance and blind impulse play 
havoc with so many a well-laid plan. 

And what were Nellie^s thoughts that night? 

Oh, belle of the piney-woods, of whom are you 
thinking, as you sit there in the family circle, silent, 
silent, and with brooding eyes ? Are your thoughts 
with the fearless soldier who even now lies upon the 
bare ground in Virginia, hungry, tired, faint with 
marching and fighting; and whose every thought is 
with you — ^you always, you only ? 

Nellie sits there in the comer, close by the table 
where the sea-shells hold forever the murmur of the 
sea, and where the dead grasses treasure up in their 
keeping the faded glories of summer; and Nellie is 
in deep thought. 

She has ever been different from other girls: she 
has read ; she has pondered ; she has built cloud- 
castles ; she has dreamed dreams. The life of books 
has mingled subtly with hers. Eomance has wooed 
her, not in vain. Passionate sentiment has not found 
her coldly irresponsive. And never before has she 
met a man, a young man, a handsome young man, 
an eloquent, intellectual, and handsome young man 
who could thrill her with the feeling of congenial 
mental companionship, as Euel Wade has done. 

Poor Uncle Ealph ! 


[ 220 ] 


CHAPTER VL 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 

It was not long after that first sermon that the 
brilliant young minister, Ruel Wade, was called to 
the pastorate of the Bethany Baptist Church. With 
his entrance upon his duties, commenced a new era 
in our local religious life. Sermons gained in weight 
what they lost in length. Ruel used no manuscript, 
not even notes; hut, in every instance, his subject 
had been analyzed, the general line of the dis- 
course mapped out, the strong points marshaled, 
and a definite stopping-place decided on. This ar- 
rangement guarded against confusion of thought, 
and yet left full play to that creativeness which all 
orators must possess, and which often produces its 
greatest marvels under the impulse of sudden inspi- 
ration — an inspiration whose going and coming are 
governed by laws so mysterious that the orator him- 
self can never control them. 

The congregation at the Baptist church rapidly 
increased in size, until the house could barely ac- 
commodate it. This was particularly true of the 
first Sunday in each month, for it soon became no- 
[ 221 ] 


BETHANY 


ticeable that Euel prepared himself more carefully 
and exerted himself more unreservedly on that day 
than on any other. Therefore, while his third-Sun- 
day congregations were better than those drawn by 
any other preacher in our part of the State, the over- 
flowing attendance was always upon the first-Sabbath 
services. 

Eor his Saturday ministrations, Euel dressed 
rather carelessly, and preached rather indolently; 
and he got sadly bored by conference proceedings, 
in which long-winded deacons and others were prone 
to air uninteresting opinions. 

Whether an intellectual man can ever, under any 
circumstances, feel much interest in tedious debates 
over the pros and cons of mere ecclesiastical disci- 
pline, is a question which has the customary two 
sides to it; but Euel Wade’s opinion was evident 
enough to anyone who watched his face while he 
presided at a humdrum conference. 

Should Brother Simons be excused for non- 
attendance upon the services at the last regular 
meeting ? ” 

The manner in which Deacon Fitts would cock 
his ears, and clothe his face with the aspect reflec- 
tive, as Brother Simons stood forth in the midst, and 
detailed at great length his reasons for his absence, 
was worth seeing. Perhaps the excuse of Simons 
might appear to be flimsy to Deacon Fitts, or to 
Brother Ticer. If so, there would be debate — ^grave, 
[ 222 ] 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 


decorous, interminable debate. In this discussion, 
Brother Simons would be only too ready to partici- 
pate. When all the elders and wise men had spoken. 
Deacon Fitts would probably milk his white beard 
a few moments, as though the fate of the universe 
were being weighed in the balances; and he would 
then rise, not hastily, but slowly and impressively. 
On such occasions I used to tremble for Simons — 
dreading lest they should break him on the wheel, 
as I had read of Christians doing to one another, 
away back yonder in old times. In a vague way, I 
wondered why Simons did not jump up, and run. 
Deacon Fitts’s face looked such unutterable, inquisi- 
torial things that there was really no way for a small 
boy like me to estimate accurately the perils by 
which Simons was surrounded. 

“ Brother Moderator ! ” 

It was the solemn voice of Deacon Fitts. Ruel 
would recognize the speaker by responding. 

Brother Fitts ! ” Then there would be another 
painful pause, as though the Deacon were, even 
yet, in some doubt as to what he should do with 
Simons. 

With a final meditative pull at his beard, the 
Deacon would resume: 

Brother Moderator ! I move you, sir, if I be 
in order, and can get a second, that we excuse Brother 
Simons.” 

Is there a second to the motion ? ” Ruel would 
[ 333 ] 


BETHANY 

inquire, according to legendary and immemorial 
formula. 

With a voice which sounded like a hollow echo in 
a vault deep down under the ground, Brother Ticer 
would come into action : 

I second the motion.” 

Is there anything to he said on this motion ? ” — 
traditional formula again, voicing itself through 
Euel. After the slightest possible pause, If not, 
the chair will put the motion,” announces imme- 
morial custom ; and then, after another of the slight- 
est possible pauses — “ All you who are in favor of ex- 
cusing Brother Simons will make it known by saying 
^ aye M ” 

The male church-members only vote. A number 
of voices are heard to say “ aye.” They vote as the 
awkward squad shoots — scatteringly. 

Those who are opposed will say ‘ no,’ ” com- 
mands the Moderator. 

No response. 

The ayes have it, and Brother Simons is ex- 
cused.” 

Is there any other question before the confer- 
ence? If not, a motion to adjourn is in order.” And 
Euel might be lucky enough to side-track other cases 
of the same sort. His face during proceedings simi- 
lar to the foregoing was a study. As already stated, 
the average conference on Saturdays bored him 
sadly. 


[ 224 ] 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 

If you wished to see Ruel at his best, you should 
have waited till the first Sunday in the month. You 
would then have seen him clad in full ecclesiastical 
black broadcloth — the long skirt of the coat giving 
a surprising dignity to his round body. On that day, 
his walk was erect and alert; his easy, lazy, rolling 
gait was gone ; the lofty look on his face raised it to 
manly beauty; the light in the eye suggested burn- 
ing thoughts that were impatient for expression. He 
did not stop to gossip, crack jokes, or talk common- 
place. His jolly laugh was never heard on his field 
day ” — ^the first Sunday in each month. No, he did 
not on such days appear till the preaching hour had 
come; and then he would go directly to the pulpit, 
as if avoiding anything which might disturb the con- 
centration of his mind, or break the spell which his 
sermon, as he had conceived it, had cast over his 
own soul. Ah, on such a day it was good to see Ruel 
Wade, good to catch every word that fell from his 
inspired lips ! 

Exceedingly proud we Baptists were of our young 
apostle, for he soared above all common mortals like 
an eagle in the air. And his temper was so genial 
and sunny, his character so essentially noble, his 
love of his fellow men so genuine, that we completely 
lost our hearts to him; and his dominion over us 
was well-nigh absolute. 

Just how many fathers in Israel yearned for him 
as a son-in-law; just how many calculating mothers 
16 [ 225 ] 


BETHANY 


thought of him in the same way; just how many of 
the girls set their caps for him cannot be told ; 
but I think there is no harm in saying that one 
of those mothers was Mrs. Roberts, and one of those 
fathers was the old Squire. 

When they pondered upon the contrast between 
Ruel Wade and Ralph Horton, they had no doubts 
as to which of the two Nellie ought to accept. In the 
eyes of the old folks, there was no room for serious 
comparison. Ralph Horton’s equals could be met in 
every county in the South ; whereas, a man like Ruel 
Wade was not to be seen twice in a lifetime. So the 
old folks, Mrs. Roberts and the Squire, had made 
up their minds; and they knew what answer they 
would make if the young pastor should ask of them 
the hand of their daughter. Therefore, the visits 
which the preacher continued to make to the Rob- 
erts’s home were encouraged by the old people. He 
fell into the habit of dining there on Sunday, at 
least twice a month; and he was» often there during 
the week, when he would drop in to supper and sit 
till bed-time. He enjoyed music; and Nellie was 
one of those rare persons who can make something 
more than maddening noise out of a piano. He 
loved flowers; and the large garden of the Squire 
was full of old-time roses, pinks, violets, lilies, and 
pansies. He loved books; and here he found more 
books than anywhere else in the community, and he 
found a congenial book-lover in Nellie. 

[ 226 ] 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 

Tell me what fluent talker does not love a good 
listener — a listener whose whole attitude and expres- 
sion declares, “ I love to hear you talk ? ” Subtler 
flattery never more insidiously wooed the natural 
vanity of man. 

There are husbands in this world of ours — ^mere 
pig-headed, noisy, dogmatic imbeciles — ^whose wives 
listen to their coarse inanities as though wisdom 
were being distilled, laughing at jaded jests which 
have been repeated a hundred times; and, in this 
sly manner, they triumph, even in their helpfulness, 
ruling the pig-headed imbecile while he struts about 
and boasts, Pm Boss.” 

Now, Nellie, of course, had no thought of flatter- 
ing Ruehs vanity. She welcomed his companionship 
and his conversation with unaffected enjoyment. 
He stimulated her interest in the things she liked 
best. Many of his ideas were novel to her: he was 
instructive as well as entertaining. His enthusiasm 
for high and noble sentiments, characters, and deeds ; 
his keen appreciation of what was most beautiful in 
literature, nature, history, and human life, exhila- 
rated her — carrying her feelings along with it in 
hearty accord. 

Thus it happened that these two gifted young 
people spent so much of their time together in the 
spring and summer of 1862, that tattling tongues 
began to wag. Gossip coupled their names; and 
rumor engaged them to be married. The whole 
[227 ] 


BETHANY 


neighborhood was full of such talk ; and public opin- 
ion declared it a good match.” Whether Kuel or 
Nellie was aware of this report, I do not know. 

Was there ever a community of human beings 
where the envious, the malicious, the meddlesome 
marplot did not do some of his mean work ? In its 
last analysis, the act of the sneak who writes, with 
evil purpose, a mischievous anonymous letter, com- 
mits an act as heinous as that of the incendiary who 
fires your house. And the officious tale-bearer, who 
repeats to you what he knows will give you pain, 
and cause you trouble, is more dangerous to you 
sometimes than the enemy whose talk he reports. 

I never knew who it was that wrote to my Uncle 
Ralph. Nor did he. The letters had no name signed 
to them, and the writing could never be identified, 
but the Bethany post-mark was on the envelopes; 
and the blow was aimed from home. Cursed be 
those letters and the cowardly hand that wrote them ; 
for they stabbed to the very heart as noble a youth 
as ever loyally loved his friends and gallantly served 
his country ! 

It was a Sabbath in June, 1862 , and, after one of 
his finest sermons which thrilled his large congre- 
gation with its electrical power, Ruel took his place 
in the Roberts rockaway and rode with the family 
to dinner. Having no domestic ties in Bethany, and 
having found no circle more congenial than that of 
[228 ] 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 


Squire Roberts, he had only to follow his inclinations 
to find himself at the Squire’s, where there was a 
good table, good company, good music, good books — 
and the most intellectual, well-read, and radiantly 
lovely girl in all that country. 

The weather was warm, very warm. Squire Rob- 
erts, it is true, had not yet said it was the hottest day 
he had ever felt in his life. He seldom began to 
repeat that time-honored fib till July. After the 
Fourth of July it was as regular in its attendance, 
from noon to three o’clock, as potato pudding was at 
the Sunday dinner-table. 

Ruel was wearing his long-tailed black broad- 
cloth coat, and a sheet-iron linen shirt. The exer- 
tion of delivering his sermon in that little hot-box 
of a pine-plank church, where the ventilation was 
bad, and the air heavy with the breath of a packed, 
perspiring congregation, had evidently over-heated 
him. His face was moist, and the collar which en- 
circled his short, thick neck was limp. He would 
have given a good deal for the privilege of pulling 
off the suffocating coat, opening his close-buttoned 
vest, and laying aside his collar and cravat. 

By the time the rockaway reached the Roberts 
home, however, the preacher had been so refreshed, 
partly by the currents of air, and partly by the vig- 
orous fanning which the ladies gave him with their 
broad palmetto-leaf fans, that he made a jest of his 
[ 229 ] 


BETHANY 


recent fatigue, and went to the dining-room with his 
appetite in its usual healthy condition. 

An hour before, two hundred people had hung upon 
his lips, fascinated, and dominated by his oratorical 
power. His brain, his heart, his soul had been 
tempest-tossed with passion. Beautiful images, vivid 
conceptions, burning thoughts, magnetic appeals to 
the feelings, flights of eloquence which spell-bound 
his listeners — all these were his an hour ago. Where 
were they now ? “ Where are the snows of yester- 

year ? ” Gone, gone, forever. Other inspirations the 
orator might hereafter have : those were as far strayed 
from his power to recall them as they were lost to the 
people who had listened. Melody may be caught 
and caged; it’ has a language of its own and can 
gamer its gems; the artistes dream lives on canvas 
or in stone; inspired verse secures the immortality 
which the poet craves, and he dies with the consola- 
tion of knowing that his creations are imperishable ; 
but the fame of the orator is a breath which leaves 
no trace behind. Take out from the noblest speech 
the personnel of the speaker, and that which re- 
mains is a lifeless corpse. How can you re-create 
the environment ? How can you reproduce the voice, 
delivery, and play of expression? Once a sudden 
storm arose while George Whitefleld was preaching, 
and, with the readiness of genius, he made use of 
the tempest to emphasize his sermon: being asked 
[ 330 ] 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 

afterwards to repeat the sermon, he answered, I’ll 
repeat the sermon, if you’ll repeat the storm.” 

An hour ago Ruel had been the inspired orator, a 
monarch, swaying his subjects. Now the animal appe- 
tites were in control, and he was just a man, like 
other men, feeding himself earnestly, steadily, and 
with robust appetite. In other words, he ate like the 
honest Dr. Samuel Johnson, rather than after the 
manner of Byron, who minced in public and stuffed 
in private. 

Dinner finished, there came the usual adjourn- 
ment to the parlor, the usual withdrawal of the 
Squire for his nap and of Mrs. Roberts to household 
routine. Nellie, at the piano, played sacred music, 
and the slow monotonous melody was a soothing 
lullaby to the young preacher who sat, much relaxed, 
in the large rocking-chair. Strain after strain of 
the familiar harmony wooed his senses until a grate- 
ful languor crept over him, fastened its hold upon 
him, and conquered him. The orator dozed — ^his 
large head inclined gently on his breast, his face a 
picture of serene repose. Nellie played on, piece 
after piece, unsuspecting, until some slight noise — 
not quite a snore — caused her to glance around. She 
smiled ; and like a good girl, she kept right on, play- 
ing softly for several minutes, with no second look at 
the sleeper. 

Few physical enjoyments are more delicious than 

[331 ] 


BETHANY 


that brief upright doze which some can take in a 
chair, without change of position, and without open- 
ing the mouth. That peculiar nap comes velvet-shod ; 
stays but a moment, and is gone — ^leaving the fortu- 
nate recipient as completely refreshed as if nature 
had taken out the old mental machinery and polished 
it anew. 

Euel waked, hurst into a jolly laugh, and ex- 
claimed : Miss Nellie, forgive me 1 I have been 
asleep. Your music is partly to blame — it soothes 
like a lullaby.” She laughed also, as she replied. 
That is a doubtful compliment, isn’t it ? Suppose 
I should go to sleep while you were preaching, would 
that be a compliment to you ? ” 

The cases are different : the preacher’s business 
is to keep people awake, whereas music is frequently 
used to put folks to sleep.” 

Very young folks,” she answered demurely. 

And some old folks, too,” he contended, in high 
good humor. The principle is the same. What 
soothes and brings slumber to the very young, and 
to the very old, must have soporific qualities in it 
to all people under certain circumstances. But 
oratory which puts people to sleep must necessarily 
be bad.” 

That depends,” she said, a good deal upon who 
the sleeper is. I think I could name one or two mem- 
bers of our church who would be almost certain to 
[ 232 ] 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 


doze a little, on a hot summer’s day, no matter how 
good was the sermon.” He laughed again as he said. 
Yes, Joe Wiggins nodded to-day, as usual. I 
reckon I’ll have to set the conference at J oe. If that 
does not cure him, we must try laughing-gas.” 

Picking up a large, richly colored sea-shell, he held 
it to his ear a moment. 

I never saw a more magnificently beautiful 
specimen; the coloring is wonderful. When I look 
at a thing like this — picked up by chance — and con- 
sider how far it exceeds in beauty any flower that 
we know, I find myself wondering whether many of 
the most exquisite productions of nature are not yet 
hidden from us. Put the shell to your ear.” 

She did so: and as if interpreting his thought, 
she said, “ Yes, I remember the explanation the 
poets give. If I could ever have my choice, my 
home should he upon some highland, compassed on 
the one side by forest, meadow, running streams, 
and upon the other by the boundless ocean. The 
sound of the waves in the sea-shell reminds me of 
what I would dream, if I dared to dream.” 

Not dare to dream,” he answered. Why 
shouldn’t you dream as much as you like? What 
harm can it do to have ideals? Was accident ever 
the parent of anything permanently good and great ? 
In front of the Work runs the Design. The dreani 
is ever in advance, beckoning to the worker. The 
ideal stands upon the heights calling to ambitious 
[ 333 ] 


BETHANY 


men, ^ Come on.’ None ever reach her side ; yet 
those who try are those who rise above the dead level 
of life.” 

Yes,” she responded, I think I understand. 
Once I read of a great sculptor, who became despond- 
ent because a statue he had just finished came fully 
up to his ideal. He prophesied that he would never 
have another great inspiration.” 

It was Thorwaldsen,” Euel said. “ He was 
right. That statue, his Christ, was not equal to 
his others; and he never again did anything great. 
His dreams had quit coming.” 

But,” she persisted, recurring to the thought she 
had in mind, What could I, a Southern girl, do 
toward reaching my ideal? I must be content with 
the life which others make for me. I cannot shape 
it for myself. If I were to turn my hand to manual 
labor of almost any kind — ^book-keeping, dress- 
making, keeping a millinery store, acting as sales- 
lady — I would lose caste.” 

He reflected, and replied: 

Not where you were already known to be a lady. 
But I admit that manual labor is too often consid- 
ered a badge of social inferiority, not alone in the 
South, but everywhere. Honest toil ceases to be a 
test of worth and respectability as soon as any people 
emerge from the early stages of democracy.” After 
a silence in which he seemed to be considering 
whether he should speak his inward thoughts, he said, 
[334 ] 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 


The truth is that slavery is a curse to everybody 
except the negro.” 

“ Except the negro ? ” 

Yes, except the negro. We Southern people 
took a naked black cannibal and made a human being 
out of him; but in the process, in the contact, we 
ourselves have become morally and mentally lowered. 
Even our educated men talk a mixed nigger dialect ; 
and our children are mentally corrupted by their 
nigger nurses and nigger playmates.” 

He continued, speaking earnestly, As long as the 
South has slavery, she will have unskilled labor : and 
nothing can be more certain than that, with her 
skilled labor, the North will take the lead from us, 
and keep it. That nation whose laborers are most 
highly educated; that nation whose industries are 
most diversified, is the nation which will rule the 
industrial world. It is inevitable. Tied down to 
its one crop — cotton — and to its unskilled laborer — 
the negro slaves — the South is industrially doomed. 
Take off our backs Northern goods, and we would 
be clad like Adam and Eve.” 

Nellie listened in amazement. You really be- 
lieve that slavery is a curse to us rather than to the 
negroes ? ” 

I do, since the negro has gained by the system 
and is still gaining, while we have lost, and are still 
losing. If the North overpowers us in this cruel 
war, the negro will be freed ; and the same crusading 
[ 235 ] 


BETHANY 


spirit which freed him will assume guardianship 
over him. What they may insist upon doing for him 
before they stop, God only knows.” 

What more could they do than to set him free ? ” 
she inquired, startled and wondering. 

They could make a citizen of him, give him 
the right to vote, appoint him to office, open the army 
to him, open public schools for him, and otherwise 
try to put him upon an equality with us. Worse 
than all, they could inflame his passions against those 
who have held him in bondage, and thus curse the 
South with a permanent state of smouldering civil 
war — equivalent to a social hell.” 

Her lovely eyes opened wide with a look of horror, 
and she exclaimed fervently, God forbid ! ” 

Then she returned once more to her own thought. 
But the South has its peculiar unwritten law about 
woman,” she continued. We Southern girls are 
educated to believe that our only true sphere is the 
home. This means that we have no other sphere, no 
real independence, no opportunities whatever ex- 
cepting those the men make for us.” 

What other sphere becomes her so well ? ” he 
asked warmly. What higher type can human 
nature develop than the perfect wife ? Why, all the 
glory of what we call civilization pivots on that. 
Given the perfect wife, the Queen of the Home, and 
the human family is seen at its best.” 

“ Provided the husband ” she began. 

[ 236 ] 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 


Ah, yes,” he broke in, of course, a brute of a 
husband can trample the bloom out of the sweetest 
flower; bnt I am supposing that a superior woman 
will have some skill in making her choice — else how 
could she compete with men in the industrial world, 
or in the professions ? ” 

There is a difference. A very superior woman 
might make dozens of mistakes in the industrial 
world, or in the professions, and upon these very 
mistakes might build success. Her errors are her 
teachers, just as they are, under the same circum- 
stances, to men. But when your superior woman 
makes a mistake in marriage, as so many of them do, 
what hope has she ? ” 

“ Do you imagine that Southern women make that 
mistake oftener than women do elsewhere ? ” he 
asked with a good-humored smile. 

She smiled also as she answered, Perhaps not, 
but the tendency is in that direction, for this reason : 
the Southern girl has fewer opportunities for self- 
support than are enjoyed by her sisters elsewhere; 
she has less practical knowledge of men, perhaps, 
than her sisters elsewhere, her movements being 
more restricted. Influenced by a greater fear of 
being left in a dependent condition, she perhaps 
consents to marry in many instances when, other- 
wise, she would not.” 

You think then that many Southern women 
prefer a sorry husband to none at all ? ” 

[237 ] 


BETHANY 


I fear that is true,” she replied stoutly. He 
laughed in his j oiliest manner as he said: 

I think it would be a big task to prove that 
Southern women are at all peculiar in that. The 
‘ old maid ’ feels lonely the world over.” Seeing 
that her face had flushed, he resumed earnestly: 

My dear Miss Nellie, all nations differ in the 
place they accord to women. The status which 
women occupy in any system is the best proof of the 
purity, or the depravity, of that system. Southern 
men regard the home as sacred. To throw around 
their women every possible protection, to guard the 
home against the slightest impurity, are purposes 
common to all Southern men. The best men of all 
the civilized world feel the same way. The differ- 
ence between them is one of method only. Judge 
the tree by its fruit ; and what have we in the South ? 
As pure and as sweet and as noble a womanhood as 
ever graced the earth ! ” 

He said this with great earnestness, and with a 
proud flash in his eyes. It was evident that she was 
moved — deeply moved — and the personal application 
which his eye seemed to give to his words could not 
fail to please her exceedingly. But apparently she 
had reflected seriously upon the matter, and was not 
willing to be convinced by a compliment. 

Isn^t there something humiliating to a woman 
in knowing that she can never take care of herself — 
never make her own way in the world ? Suppose a 
[ 338 1 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 

rich Southern girl to suddenly lose her riches, and 
to be thrown upon her own resources — ^what is to 
become of her ? ” 

In such extreme cases,” he answered, the 
Southern girl is not entirely without hope. There 
are things she can do, though I grant that the pro- 
fessions are not open to her, nor many other oppor- 
tunities in our industrial system. After all, the men 
must make the world what they can, and what they 
will: it has always been so. Women inspire men, 
purify men, make them happy, share their success 
and make it sweeter — but the human race must al- 
ways be what the men are.” 

So we are the inferior sex ? ” 

Not by any means, the inferior. But men are 
better fitted to fight the rough battle of life in the 
outer world. Why, even the best cooks that ever lived 
were men. The best dressmakers are men. Believe 
me. Miss Nellie, a woman is never more divinely 
missioned than when she is the good angel of the 
house. Into the lives of all good and great men 
have gone the ennobling spirits of the mother and 
the wife.” 

She did not pursue the subject but went to the 
piano, and with a lingering touch, and a soft one, 
played ^The Monastery Bells.” 

When she finished, he said with a smile, “ If 
you had been playing that a while ago, I should not 
have gone to sleep.” 


[ 2S9 ] 


BETHANY 


^‘Mr. Wade,” she asked impulsively, “why do 
you not write a book ? ” 

His sides shook with merriment. “ Miss Nellie, 
all the books have been written. There is nothing 
new to say about anything.” 

“ But suppose you should publish something like 
what you have been saying to me, couldn’t you con- 
vince our leading men that we ought to get rid of 
slavery for our own good. Such a hook as that would 
be new, and it would create a sensation.” 

“ Do you want to see me tarred and feathered, or 
ridden on a rail, or swung up to a limb ? Why, my 
dear young lady, just such a book as you want me 
to write has been published by Hinton Helper of 
North Carolina. Its only effect was to fan the fire 
on both sides of Mason and Dixon’s line. Thou- 
sands of Southern men would be glad to help lynch 
the author. And C. C. Clay of Kentucky has pub- 
lished the very same arguments.” 

She exclaimed : “ Why, I understood that Helper’s 
book was detested because of its violence. Didn’t 
he say we ought to be treated as outlaws and 
pirates ? ” 

“ Yes,” he answered. “ He said that. But that 
alone did not cause the storm of wrath and hatred 
which followed the book. The volume is a large one, 
crammed with solid fact, ofiicial figures, sound logic, 
and good common sense. He shows that slavery is 
an injury to the South. His arguments cannot be 
[ 240 ] 


NELLIE AND THE PREACHER 


answered. Hence, the anger of those whom he as- 
sails. Jesus Christ himself could not inspire a hook 
against slavery which would convince and conciliate 
the Xancey-ites and the Bob-Toombsrites of the 
South.’^ 

Mr. Wade, you astonish me! You talk like an 
abolitionist ! ” 

The girFs face expressed wonder and displeasure. 

He answered quietly : I am no abolitionist. The 
Beechers and the Garrisons have given me no chance 
to be. Had these fanatics kept their mouths shut, 
and not gone to threatening the South, and preach- 
ing a crusade against it, there would have been long 
ago such a movement among ourselves in favor of 
emancipation as would eventually have ended the 
system.” 

What makes you think so ? ” she asked. 

Th ^ain facts,” he answered. “ The trend of 
the age Wv o in that direction: the teachings of our 
wisest men were along that line : the Christian senti- 
ment was being aroused to the same conviction.” 

Why, then, was nothing done ? ” she inquired. 

Well, it couldnT be done in a day. Southern 
statesmen had tried the colonization plan, and 
Liberia was established. The negroes could not be 
unconditionally set free without a social convulsion. 
None of our wise men could offer the practical plan. 
Jefferson did his best, but even he realized that it 
was a tremendous difficulty.” 

17 [ 341 ] 


BETHANY 


Eising to go, he added : The moment the poli- 
ticians, North and South, took charge of the prob- 
lem, they began to inflame the passions of the people, 
in order to maintain the power they had grasped. 
After that was done, the law of revolutions made it 
inevitable that the most violent would rule. Kadi- 
cals led the North against the South; radicals led 
the South against the North. The natural, the im- 
avoidable result is War.” 

“ And after the war ? ” she ventured to ask. 

Vcp victis! Woe to the vanquished! Eoman 
or Anglor^axon, the rule is the same — the loser 
pays.” 


[343 ] 


CHAPTEK VII 


RALPH AND HIS WOUND 

It was the most horrible night mj Uncle Ealph 
had ever passed — that night in the field hospital of 
Cobb’s Legion. Piteous groans, agonizing shrieks, 
sounded throughout the night as the wounded sol- 
diers lay on the bare ground in the soaking rain. 

IsText morning when his faithful friend, Toombs 
Cullars, came to see how he was getting on, Ealph 
was wild to get away from the hospital. Anywhere, 
anywhere, would be better than this. 

His wound had been dressed, his arm hung help- 
lessly in its sling, his fever was rising, but he would 
listen to no remonstrance. 

Take me away, Toombs, take me away ! I can’t 
stand this. It will kill me. Come, let’s go ! ” 

There was no stopping him. Toombs put his arm 
around Ealph, and Ealph’s arm clung to Toombs, 
and so they started for the camp. Toombs meant to 
do his utmost to keep Ealph in the camp where the 
boys ” could nurse him. 

These rough soldiers had learned how to help them- 
[343 ] 


BETHANY 


selves and one another. They soon came to know 
what to do for the sick and wounded and what 
wounds were past all cure. Ralph’s friends believed 
that he only needed rest, quiet and good nursing; 
and they determined to save him from the sickening 
scenes of the hospital. 

The roads were in a terrible condition. Armies 
coming and armies going — horse, foot, artillery, 
camp equipage, sutlers’ wagons, supply trains, had 
cut them to pieces, and the Chickahominy swamps 
were a loblolly into which men, horses and vehicles 
sank and floundered. Now, Uncle Ralph had caught 
the measles at Richmond before the campaign 
opened ; and had not fully recovered before he broke 
away from the hospital and reported for duty. In 
marching to the position which the Bethany Guards 
occupied, before the first battle of the series leading 
to Malvern Hill, he had been drenched in a rain- 
storm. This wetting brought on a severe cold. 
Thinking nothing of it, he kept his place in the ranks 
till disabled in the last battle. Now that the fight- 
ing was over, his system relaxed, and he began to 
feel a sickness far more serious than his wound. 
Cullars was observant, and finally one evening as 
they were about to camp in the rain, he said to 
Ralph : 

Look a-here, old man, this will never do. If you 
haven’t got pneumonia now, you’ll soon have it, if you 
keep on sleeping in wet blankets. Another night 
[ 344 ] 


RALPH AND HIS WOUND 


may be one too many. We must get you into a bouse 
and a dry bed.’’ 

Paying no attention to anything Ralph said, * 
Toombs left the camp. An hour later he returned, 
and called out: Come here, Dolph.” 

He spoke a few words to Ramsey, and they both got 
hold of Ralph and bore him along slowly to the house 
of a noble-hearted Virginia lady — a Mrs. Dabney — 
who had cheerfully consented to give shelter for the 
night to the sick and wounded soldier. 

Next morning she would not hear of his leaving: 
he was too ill to think of such a thing: he must stay 
there and let her nurse him back to health. No, no, 
he must stay. 

And he did stay; lying there, a very, very sick 
man, for more than a month ; nursed as tenderly by 
Mrs. Dabney as if it had been her own son. 

Somewhere, somewhere among radiant faces, be- 
yond earth’s cares and doubts, I fervently hope that 
good woman lives, forevermore! 

And I do hope that she knew that in the heart of 
Ralph, and in the hearts of us who loved him, her 
dear name was enshrined with the holiest gratitude 
and love. 

Glorious old Virginia! She had more than one 
Mrs. Dabney. They were there by the thousand. 

I well remember the day in September, 1862, 
when Uncle Ralph came home. Letters from 
[ 245 ] 


BETHANY 


Mrs. Dabney had reached us, telling us where he 
was, and in what condition. 

My grandfather was sadly stirred and anxious. 
Tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks, and as he 
lifted his large red silk handkerchief to wipe them 
off, his hands shook pitiably with palsy. His tongue 
was involved in the malady, so that his articulation 
wa:s not distinct, yet his meaning was made plain. 

His own body-servant, Wilson, must go to Vir- 
ginia, and bring Ralph home — Must go at once ! ” 

So Wilson, a bright young negro, had been duly 
instructed, furnished with money, and put on the 
train for Richmond. In due time he was on his way 
back, bringing Ralph. 

Shall I ever forget the day ? 

Grandfather was too feeble to go to town, but he 
let me go along with the yellow boy, Sam, who drove 
the rockaway and the two fat mules. We stopped 
near the little granite depot waiting for the train. 
It was an hour late — a respectable precedent for all 
trains that are waited for with particular impatience. 
But at last she whooped,” as Sam said, in high 
glee, and my eager eyes caught first the column of 
smoke, and then the smoke-stack, as the engine 
rounded the curve at the Stovall swamp. 

What took place between that delirious moment 
and the other delirious moment when Uncle Ralph 
had his arm around my neck — Chugging me dose, 
close — I could not, for the life of me, say. 

[ 346 ] 


RALPH AND HIS WOUND 


I laughed, I cried, I whooped — I had St. Vitus’s 
dance, complicated with vulgar hysterics. 

Drive on, Sam.” 

And away we went, homeward. 

As we walked toward the house, Wilson had to 
support Uncle Ralph ; and it was then that I noticed 
how wan and weak he was. His right arm hung in 
a sling; his face was as white as a sheet; his walk 
was uncertain and slow. 

With all her tact, my mother could not hide the 
first impression the sight of him made upon her. 
She was shocked, scared — I saw it as plainly as I 
ever saw anything — and then it was gone; and her 
expression was all affection, warm welcome, cheerful 
sympathy. As to grandfather, his eyes were dimmer, 
his intelligence more sluggish; and he saw nothing 
save his wounded son, his long-lost son, restored to 
him; and he was proud and happy. It was always 
beautiful to witness Ralph’s fine courtesy, patience 
and consideration in dealing with his father; and 
upon this day the old man’s heart was made to swell 
with satisfaction. 

In the healthy atmosphere of home Uncle Ralph 
began to improve. Slowly, he regained strength. 
Little by little, he increased the length of his daily 
stroll, until he could go to the fields where the hands 
were at work. But his arm did not get right. It 
had been accidentally hurt several times, and the 
[247 ] 


BETHANY 


wound proved obstinate. Week after week passed, 
month after month, and still he was but the ghost of 
his former self. Neither in strength nor in spirits 
was he what he used to be. Only by painful effort 
could he walk to the fields and back without help; 
only by the rarest chance would a smile be seen on his 
face. His old-time laughter, which we had all loved to 
hear, was gone. During the day he had his good 
word for everybody, white and black; at night he 
would sit on the piazza, silent by the hour. He did 
not shun company nor conversation. He freely 
talked with everyone who wanted to know about the 
war. He was not morose nor unsociable. But his 
whole manner seemed to indicate that his thoughts, 
left to themselves, dwelt upon other matters. 

A sadly wan, broken, solitary, quiet man! He 
had a high, resigned, melancholy expression upon 
his features which had never been there before. It 
made him look older, gave more character to his face ; 
and, in my eyes at least, made a more distinguished 
man of him. 

He did not speak of Nellie Koberts, nor of any 
other girl. If they were spoken of in his presence, 
he listened impassively, and spoke of something 
else. 

He visited no one. In fact, it was September be- 
fore he was able to mount his horse and ride any- 
where. 

He was profoundly convinced that Nellie had 
[248 ] 


RALPH AND HIS WOUND 


accepted the preacher. Not only the anonymous 
letters declared this, but current opinion in the 
neighborhood had settled upon the same conclusion. 
The thing was regarded as settled. Even my mother 
believed that there could be no doubt about it. 

Uncle Ralph saw the facts as they were; sub- 
mitted with proud humility to the inevitable; and 
showed no man his wound. But he had suffered, and 
was still suffering. The piney-woods belle was yet 
the mistress of his heart. 

When he first went off to the army, he had from 
time to time written to Nellie, and she to him. The 
tone of the letters was that of the most tender friend- 
ship ; but he was not the man to do his wooing from 
a distance, and talk his love with a pen. 

No. He had said all that he could say, when they 
had been face to face. Not until they were face to 
face again would he again make love to Nellie. He 
would do his duty in the ranks; he would earn a 
right to her admiration if he could. 

Not until he had won, among his fellow men, in 
the fiery ordeal of battle, a place equal to that of the 
bravest, would he ever ask Nellie Roberts to be his 
wife. True, she had never told him that she loved 
him. Nor had she committed herself in any way. 
But yet he believed that, in her heart of hearts, there 
was a tenderness for him; and that when he had 
made a man of himself, had won honorable rank 
through toil, devotion to duty, persistence and 
[ 349 ] 


BETHANY 


daring, tlie noble-hearted girl who had permitted 
him to love her would not condemn him to despair. 

From one cause and another, the correspondence 
between the two had lagged. Restraining himself, 
from principle and policy, there was nothing he 
could say of the subject nearest his heart; and there 
was not much incentive to write about others. Sev- 
eral times his letters were lost in the uncertain mail- 
service of the army; and the same fate befell some 
of hers. Each thought the other an indifferent cor- 
respondent. Each was somewhat piqued. It was at 
this unfortunate juncture that the first anonymous 
letter was written. It reached the victim at the 
moment when he was readiest to believe. 

The letter explained what had puzzled and wor- 
ried him. She had not written to him, had not an- 
swered his letters, because she was more pleasantly 
engaged with that young preacher whom the Bethany 
people had gone crazy about. Ah, yes, it was plain 
enough now. She had met a man more attractive 
to her than he had ever been — one who could talk 
to her of books, music, fiowers, poetry and senti- 
ment. It would be a far more brilliant match for 
her — why should she not see it as plainly as even he. 

He did not blame her. How could he? She had 
given him no pledge — had made him no confession. 
Yes, it was all plain enough now. She loved an- 
other; one worthier of her than he; and hence she 
had quietly allowed the correspondence to drop. 

[ 250 ] 


RALPH AND HIS WOUND 

To him, she was lost. His wounded arm had hurt 
tim — ^but not like this. The bed of sickness had 
tortured him — ^but not like this. Yet his pride was 
his powerful ally, and did not fail him. 

Be a man ! Be a man ! Utter no complaint. Ask 
no one^s pity. Be a man! and out of this terrible 
trial come forth stronger. 

So his features had come to wear habitually 
that fixed expression of sad fortitude. Sometimes 
I felt that I would have been willing to do any- 
thing on earth to bring back to my uncle his old, 
jolly, ringing laugh. But I dared not speak to 
him about it. Instinctively, I felt that it would 
never do. 

Among those who had come from Bethany to visit 
the sick and wounded soldier was Ruel Wade. With 
no embarrassment whatever, and with a manner so 
frank, hearty and sympathetic that there was no re- 
sisting it, he made himself known to my Uncle 
Ralph; and inquired for all the particulars relating 
to his campaigns, his hardship, and his wound. At 
first. Uncle Ralph had hesitated, doubtful how to 
receive these unexpected and undesired advances, 
but it was only for a moment. 

His decision — the right one — ^was made before 
Ruel had marked the hesitation. After that first 
meeting, Ruel had been several times to our house; 
and I think Ralph came as near to liking him 
[351 ] 


BETHANY 


as it was possible for him to like any man who had 
captured the heart of Nellie Eoberts. 

That Euel was fond of Uncle Kalph and rather 
admired him, was evident. While the soldier could 
not talk about books, quote poetry, or utter eloquent 
sentiments, he did not lack that kind of natural 
ability which is sometimes called horse sense.” He 
was interesting to any man or woman who cared to 
speak of the world as it really is — ^the practical 
world, instead of the ideal. There was a dignity and 
self-respect about him that was rather fine. In 
person he was always as neat as a pin; bore his 
head well up; and in his carriage there was no sug- 
gestion that he was craving somebody’s permission to 
remain alive. In his new uniform — or old one 
either, for that matter — ^he looked every inch a sol- 
dier, and a man ! 

Now, I loved to hear the preacher talk. I appre- 
ciated all his good and great qualities. I came to 
love him very dearly, but the more I saw of Euel 
Wade the greater was my indignant wrath that he 
should have been preferred to Uncle Ealph as a 
lover. 

Euel chewed tobacco; and he was nearly always 
squirting ambier about. His every-day clothing ” 
was rusty, considerably soiled — his linen showing 
slight stains of tobacco juice. The leather strings 
of his shoes were often untied, disclosing socks not 
peculiarly clean. His hat had a worn, greasy, 
[ 252 ] 


RALPH AND HIS WOUND 


shiny look; and his necktie was twisted and shriv- 
eled into a mere black string which looked old and 
frayed. A heard covered his face. Too indolent to 
shave, he let the hair grow where it pleased. He 
used to say, with that merry twinkle of the eye which 
defied you to read his true meaning, that nature had 
not intended men to shave. The fact that the pain 
caused by a dull razor made the eyes water, was proof 
that shaving was injurious to the sight. Therefore, 
nature had not meant that men should shave. Un- 
conventional most of the time, unkempt and untidy 
part of the time, but big-hearted and big-brained all 
the time — such was Ruel Wade; and if you knew 
him well and he wanted you to like him, you would 
like him. 

As he was leaving us one day, ambling and rolling 
along in his lazy manner, he looked up to my tall 
uncle, and said cordially, Come out to church next 
Sunday, Ralph. I have not seen you there since 
you got back from the army. I want you to hear me 
preach.” 

To my surprise. Uncle Ralph answered, seriously 
and promptly, I will come.” 


[353 1 


CHAPTEE VIII 


AGAIN IN THE OLD CHURCH 

About the doors of country churches there used 
to cluster, before services, groups of men and boys, 
who whittled and chatted until the hymn was given 
out. With the first swell of the fine old congrega- 
tional music, the loafing groups would dissolve, as 
the loiterers filed into the church. A few of the out- 
siders might wait until the hymn was finished, and 
the first prayer offered up ; but, generally, everybody 
would be on the inside at the close of the first stanza 

of the hymn. 

. . 

This grouping on the outside before service gave 
the country people their best opportunity to indulge 
social inclinations, and to exchange neighborhood 
news. 

At the church door the latest gossip would be cir- 
culated, including the latest crop items, the latest 
tidings from the sick, the latest reports on affairs 
political. During the war, the latest news from the 
front was the all-absorbing topic; and any one who 
had recently received an interesting letter was an im- 
portant man. 


[ 354 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


It was the first Sunday in October, 1862, when 
my Uncle Ralph passed into the usual out-door group 
which clustered about our church at Bethany. Ac- 
cording to promise, he had come to hear Ruel Wade 
preach. 

As the tall young soldier had approached them, the 
loiterers had suspended their gossip ; and they turned 
to him with warmest greetings. His gallantry in 
the army was well known. Letters from his com- 
rades to friends and relatives had spoken of him in 
the highest terms. The whole community was pre- 
pared to honor him as one of its heroes. But he had 
offered it no opportunity. He had not shown him- 
self in public. Therefore, the group at the church- 
door, by a spontaneous movement, gave him almost 
an ovation. They were the men who were either too 
old for military service, or who came within some 
of the exemptions ; but they all were ready to show 
the highest consideration to any one of the Southern 
volunteers who had fought gallantly for the cause. 

The church-door group held him in conversation 
for some time, and he had barely made his escape 
into the house before Ruel appeared, dressed in his 
long-tailed black coat, having that intent expression 
habitual to him on the first Sabbath. 

After selecting a hymn which all could sing — ^we 
had no organ and choir to do the musical part for 
us in those days — ^Ruel selected as his text the verse 
wherein Charity is declared to be greater than Faith 
[ 255 ] 


BETHANY 


and Hope. Of course, his central thought was that 
the fathers of the church had made a mistake when 
they grounded the Christian religion upon Faith, 
rather than upon Charity. Naturally, his line of 
reasoning was that Hope was a mental condition 
beyond human control; and that Faith depended 
wholly upon the structure of the brain, whereas 
Charity could be made a matter of principle and, 
therefore, of human control. Who could tell a hypo- 
crite from a true believer by the test of faith ? The 
knave could repeat the formula as smoothly as the 
saint. 

They built on a false foundation when they built 
on Faith alone. They make more hypocrites than con- 
verts by such a method. The world is full of noble- 
minded, noble-hearted men whose mental structure 
is such that it is impossible for them to have exactly 
the same Faith as you and I: should we condemn 
those men ? 

It may be that every day of their lives is fuller 
of Christian charity — good works done from hu- 
mane motives — ^than yours will ever be: yet because 
you say you have Faith, you puff up yourself with 
pride, and say to them, ^ I am better than you.’ 

“ Mere Faith varies with every clime, every 
people — dependent always upon heredity, education, 
environment. The Turk is as honest in his faith as 
yourself. It comes to him sanctified by his mother’s 
prayers, just as yours did. The Hindoo’s faith in 
[ 356 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


Buddha lacks nothing in the reverence which yours 
in Christ possesses. 

The Hindoo mother may almost he said to have 
given birth to a Buddhist at the same time that she 
bore a child, just as your mother’s religion entered 
into your very existence with her blood and flesh. 

Why then build religion upon such an accidental 
condition as Eaith? Why not build upon Charity? 
It is in all lands the same, amid all people the same, 
in every age of the world the same. 

Charity, the messenger of the good motive; 
Charity, the good angel, bom of the warm heart and 
the lofty soul ; Charity, the favorite of God ! 

Who dares to tell me that a man shall he sent 
to hell, to be tortured throughout the endless ages, be- 
cause he does not believe — ^when his life may have 
been one continuous chronicle of good deeds? Who 
dares to contend that another man shall be sent to 
heaven, to be an angel forevermore, because he does 
believe — although his life may have reeked with 
crime and been barren of good works? The priest, 
who wants to stretch forth his rod of iron over the 
world ! Christ never said it : the Bible does not 
teach it: human reason denies it: the human heart 
revolts at it. Shackle religion by a narrow test like 
that, let the priest absolve every scoundrel who kneels 
and mutters the formula of Faith — and the church 
will become the city of refuge, the social bomb-proof, 
of the worldly-wise rascality of the universe.” 

18 [ 357 ] 


BETHANY 


In a voice whose vibrating earnestness laid its 
touch upon every heart-string, he exclaimed: 

Faith! You talk to me of Faith! You fashion 
your lips and your ears to the word Faith! The 
whole church — Protestant and Catholic — is being 
enslaved by the word Faith! 

Who denies the divine mission of Faith? Not 
I, not I! Nerving every arm that ever toiled for 
success, speeding every foot which has run the race 
for worldly honors, has been the electrical power of 
Faith. Upon every flag which heroic endeavor has 
borne to victory, in every fleld of human strife and 
struggle, was written the word Faith. 

But when the glorious word and principle is 
misused; when Faith is prostituted; when the foul- 
hearted sinner listens to pulpit utterance which 
warrants the belief that Faith, mere Faith, can wash 
his scarlet whiter than snow every time he stains his 
robe of life — then I denounce the false doctrine as 
foreign to Christ ! None but a priest, catering to in- 
tolerance, could have fashioned so deadly a weapon 
against the intellectual integrity of the human race ! 

If religion does not mean being good, and doing 
good, it is not worth having — is a mockery, a delu- 
sion, a spiritual slavery ! ’’ 

Whether we Baptists would have patiently listened 
to that kind of preaching from a rank stranger is 
doubtful. Probably we should have resented the 
[ 258 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


heresy, and had the offender brought up in the 
church ” about it. 

But Ruel Wade came of such good old Baptist 
stock that he could have said almost anything. The 
elders did not keep a sharp eye on him, as they would 
have done on some one else. He was not only of the 
strictest orthodox lineage, but he was a graduate of 
our Baptist college, where the great Doctor P. H. 
Mell was supreme. Whoever came forth into the 
ministerial world with the stamp of Doctor MelFs 
approval upon him was necessarily compelled to be 
an orthodox Baptist — ^no matter what he might 
appear to say to the contrary. 

Ruel knew his strength, and presumed upon it 
daringly. He really enjoyed the shaking up ” he 
sometimes gave us. He reveled in our consterna- 
tion. In many respects he was original. A more 
fearless man, in his quiet way, I never knew. Books 
were not his only teachers : he studied men and things 
with those keen eyes of his; and no sort of sham 
could blindfold him. The almost ironical smile 
which sometimes lurked about his face at the Sat- 
urday conference suggested that it might have 
pleased him well to have played bull in that little 
china shop just a few minutes. 

It was noticed that he never preached doctrinal 
sermons.’’ His appeals were made to the broad 
sympathies and the loftier aspirations of human 
nature. 


[ 359 ] 


BETHANY 


Make yourselves useful. Do good. Love one 
another. Beat down the devil that is in you, and 
keep him down. In no other way can you reach 
heaven. Kesist low appetites and sensual cravings. 
We all have base desires — the lady in silks, no less 
than the wench in serge; the man in broad-cloth, no 
less than the man in home-spun; the hero and the 
heroine of life are they who have conquered the 
enemy within themselves. What makes the gentle- 
man ? Self-restraint. What makes the lady ? Self- 
restraint. 

Oh, my friends, life is short, and we are very 
weak, very helpless — far astray from right paths. 
We know nothing of our destinies. All the books 
on earth are unable to teach us what we most crave 
to know. 

Creed starts up in all the highways which cross 
and recross the universe; and her voice is ever the 
same : Believe ! But poor human nature, dimly 
seeing the present, and ignorant of both past and 
future, answers back, with sob-broken tones, ^ Unveil 
the truth and let me for myself see her glorious 
face ! ’ 

Vain prayer. We do not know. Our fathers 
never knew. Our sons will never know. We dwell 
here together a little while, lost, helpless — struggling 
in all small, mean ways to make each more wretched 
than we already are. 

Oh, brethren ! Cultivate kindness. Do right, 
[ 260 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 

because it is right. Do good, because it is the nobler 
part. 

Be true, be pure. Die ! — as the little ermine 
dies — rather than soil the spotless white of your 
souls ! 

Do not shun hell, merely because you dread the 
torture. Do not seek heaven, merely because you cal- 
culate the reward. 

Cowardice is no ingredient of true Christianity : 
selfish prudence is not the motive which Christ will 
approve. 

Rise, rise, above the sordid meanness of sin and 
shame ; rise to the full height of your highest 
thoughts and feelings; and so live that your life- 
record may be studded with the deeds of your better 
nature — and when the night comes they will shine 
as stars. 

Vex not yourselves with vain disputes about 
doctrine : fill your lives with holy light : fill the lives 
of others with what light you can : strive always and 
by all means to become pure in heart — and as surely 
as we can know anything, we may know that a just 
God will not frown upon you forever. 

It would be impossible to follow the emotions 
which chased each other through the mind of Ralph, 
as he sat listening to Ruehs sermon. It seemed to 
him that inspiration from on high was in it. To him 
it seemed that the music of the spheres was in it. The 
infinite yearnings of the human race for the higher, 
[361 ] 


BETHANY 


better life were in it. He was profoundly moved; 
and not until the last word had been said did he take 
his eyes off the preacher. 

As Euel sank back upon the sofa behind the pulpit, 
Ealph heaved a deep sigh. He was thinking to him- 
self, No wonder she fell in love with him.” 

The congregation stood up for the last hymn, 
Uncle Ealph’s towering figure and uniform dominat- 
ing the little throng, so that all eyes shot glances in 
his direction. He looked around him, searching, in 
spite of himself, for the one face which haunted all 
his dreams. 

Nellie was there: Nellie was as lovely as ever — a 
trifle pale, perhaps — and she was so intent upon her 
singing that her eyes were not lifted from the short, 
thick, leather-bound hymn-book. 

Let us be dismissed ! ” 

In his mellow voice, full of feeling, Euel pro- 
nounced the benediction. 

And now everybody pressed around my Uncle 
Ealph. The men, the ladies, the young, the old — 
they all wanted to shake his hand, to speak a word of 
welcome, and to make inquiries about loved ones in 
Virginia. Euel, glad that Ealph had come to hear 
him preach, and flattered by his rapt attention, de- 
scended from the pulpit to speak warm words to the 
soldier. 

Squire Eoberts had no personal grudge against 
Ealph; and he also went with the current. He 
[ 363 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


shook hands cordially with the hero, and said com- 
plimentary things as others had done. 

Then, after he had invited Enel to dinner, and 
Enel had accepted, he surprised Ealph by asking: 

Will you not join us ? ” 

To Ealph’s own surprise, his impulsive tongue 
answered, Yes, with pleasure.” 

Dear me! How trivial and accidental are the 
pivots upon which our destinies turn! At the time 
Ealph was mounting his horse that morning he had 
as little thought of hitching him at Squire Eoberts^s 
oak-tree that day, as he had of riding him to the 
moon. The Squire’s weakness in going with the 
crowd at the church, and his vanity in wishing to 
take to dinner the two heroes of the day, Euel and 
Ealph, had made an awkward situation which 
Ealph’s impulsive tongue had rendered almost intol- 
erable. As the bay horse glided along by the rock- 
away, Ealph’s thoughts were far from pleasant. He 
had put himself into a false position. He would em- 
barrass ISTellie as well as himself. 

The preacher would probably feel no constraint, 
for a new comer could hardly be supposed to know 
anything of their past relations : and as to Squire 
Eoberts, he would gratefully accept as true that 
which appeared to be true, namely, that Euel had suc- 
ceeded where Ealph had failed, and that Ealph was 
bearing himself like a man under the disappointment. 

[ 263 ] 


BETHANY 


As yet, Ealph and Nellie had barely spoken to 
each other. A formal word of salutation, the usual 
bow; nothing more. He had looked into her eyes, as 
he had looked into the muzzles of muskets — ^not be- 
cause it was easy, but because he was no coward. 
Had not his mind already been convinced that she 
had plighted her faith to the preacher, had it not 
been that he had schooled himself and forced himself 
to realize that all hope for him was gone, the brief 
glance that she flashed at him as he faced the guns ’’ 
might have had its meaning. 

Had he not been blind — stone blind — he would 
have read in that brief, troubled, questioning 
glance something of anger, and something of re- 
proach. 

Since he was looking for nothing, he saw nothing. 
The girl had chosen another man : she had never been 
his: she had not coquetted or played false: she had 
held him in suspense, but then she herself had been 
uncertain, perhaps: the other man was so far his 
superior in education and talent, and was besides so 
very admirable in sterling qualities of disposition 
and character, that she had done no more than nine 
hundred and ninety-nine girls in a thousand would 
have been glad to do. What would you have ? Girls 
must follow their inclinations, just as men do. Why 
sulk, and show ugly traits? Let smaller creatures 
do that: he, Ealph Horton, would act the man, 
would hold his head up, and no one should see that 
[ 264 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


inner wound. His lady-love and his successful rival 
should not despise him. He would show that he, 
too, in his different way, had a strength which must 
he respected. He would defy Ruel or her to pity 
him : he would wear his mask during this visit ; after 
that, he would see her no more. 

The table at which the preacher and the soldier 
sat down to dine with the family of the Squire was 
graced with the substantial array of home-raised 
victuals once so common, now so rare in the South. 
Served in the usual country style, the whole of it 
was on the table at the beginning of the meal, so 
that one’s first mouthful could he taken with refer- 
ence to all that was to follow. The food did not 
come to the guest, dish after dish, as it does at one 
of those formal dinings which most people praise in 
public and heartily damn in- private. Ho, the food 
was all there at one and the same time: your plate 
remained unchanged until you reached the pastry. 
Thus, you could systematize your eating, and get 
a dinner to suit your individual taste. 

It has happened to me several times in my life to 
be arrested, convicted, and sentenced to dine in com- 
pany with other well-dressed convicts, male and 
female, at a swell dinner — one of those formal func- 
tions where solemn flunkeys bring you one thing, 
only, to eat at a time. When you have pecked a 
while at that one thing, whatever it may he, solemn 
flunkeys take it away, and bring you another plate, 
[ 265 ] 


BETHANY 


and some other one thing to peck at a while. Some- 
times it happens that this one thing is a big, defiant- 
looking tomato. To sit in one^s chair, gazing at the 
last course which the fiunkej has just put on; to 
realize that this entire course consists of a solitary 
tomato, looking fiercely red and raw ; to glance along 
the table and to realize that all the convicts, male and 
female, have one tomato apiece, and are trying to 
look cheerfully at the convict boss — the host — has 
overwhelmed me every time it got the chance. The 
scene is heartrending. 

And then the forced, unnatural conversation ! The 
thin, dry, gray-headed old jokes, which go to all 
these formal dinners and seem to live in the pockets 
of the hideous dress-coat ! And the dreadful after- 
dinner speeches,” with their prophylactic fiuid wit 
— dear me! the only cold-blooded murders I have 
ever committed were due to this maddening in- 
fluence. 

There being no flunkeys and no monkeys at Squire 
Koberts’s, nothing but a neat negro girl to hand the 
dishes around, and sane folks to enjoy the good food, 
dinner did not last four hours, exhausting the com- 
pany. It lasted about half an hour, and seemed to 
refresh all concerned. 

Erect, clean-shaved, gravely polite, Ealph was the 
most striking figure at the board. The round, short 
body of the preacher, with the fat neck and the 
coarse brown-black beard, was at a disadvantage 

[ 266 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 

beside the spare, vigorous, shapely outlines of the 
soldier^s chest, shoulders, neck and head. And while 
Ralph’s was not the intellectual face, it was stamped 
with character. The steady blue-gray eyes were 
large, wide apart, and looked you full in the face. 
The mouth was firm, the chin strong, the teeth reg- 
ular and white. Looking at him you would have 
said, Here is a man to count on. If he is your 
friend he will die for you. If he is your enemy, let 
him alone. This man will not lie, nor shrink from 
any duty, nor run from any danger. He will do 
what he thinks is right: and no odds can turn him. 
If a woman can be content with a lover who is the 
full equal of the average man in mental capacity, 
and who is above the average in courage, loyalty 
and devotion to high manly principles — if she wants 
a man who would fight the whole world for her sake 
and lay his life at her feet — then let her lean on this 
man, for he is firm as a rock, and as true as tempered 
steel.” 

His arm was not worn in a sling that day. For 
the first time he had released it. But it had 
given him several throbs and twinges of pain ; 
and when he took up his knife and fork and tried 
to cut the meat on his plate, he found that he could 
not. 

Motherly Mrs. Roberts was at his side on the in- 
stant, to do it for him. 

If I had been the young preacher and had seen 
[ 267 ] 


BETHANY 


the look which came over Nellie^s face then, I should 
have been troubled in my mind. 

Blind soldier! 

With a satisfied look, and a well-bred sigh of con- 
tentment, the young preacher wiped his beard with 
his napkin; and Squire Koberts led the way to the 
parlor. 

For an hour or more the conversation was gen- 
eral, and more or less trivial, for Squire Roberts and 
his wife remained in the room, and the after-dinner 
languor had its usual infiuence. 

Nellie was asked to play sacred music upon the 
piano, to cover the awkwardness of long gaps in the 
conversation. As she played monotonously and in- 
differently, the preacher almost got his nap, and the 
Squire took a doze. Ralph gazed out of the window 
with that high, resigned, but resolute expression 
which gave to his commonplace features a certain 
distinction and individuality. He scarcely glanced 
at the dull-eyed, drowsy-faced preacher: he did not 
look at the dozing Squire. He saw nothing, save a 
tall, dismal, old cedar-tree in the garden. Nothing 
else? Yes: he saw the fairest of all the maidens 
breaking a fiower to pin on his lapel ; and he saw the 
lovely face upturned to his — and the lips from 
which he had snatched a kiss. 

Only a year had passed — one short year — but yet 
that little garden seemed a distant fairy-land, and 
[ 368 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


the tall cedar its sentinel. If he should now try to 
enter that enchanted realm, he would almost expect 
to hear the ominous sentinel cry Halt ! ’’ It 
seemed a century ago since he had known the open 
sesame ’’ to the little gate. 

Tell us something about the war, Ralph ! ’’ 

It was the voice of Squire Roberts, whose little 
cat nap ” had restored him to liveliness. 

Tell us all about the Bethany Guards, and the 
battles you have been in. Tell us about the big gen- 
erals — Lee, Johnston, Beauregard, and Jeb Stuart ! ” 
The piano was closed, everyone turned to Ralph, 
and he began to talk of the war. He spoke of the ex- 
periences of the Bethany Guards — the march, the 
bivouac, the battle, the joys and hardships of soldier 
life. He told how his comrade. Brown, had been 
wounded at Seven Pines; and how Emery had been 
killed at Savage Station ; and how Smith had fallen 
in White Oak swamp. 

Is it true,’’ asked Ruel, now fully interested, 
that Jeff Davis and Joe Johnston have had a fall- 
ing out ? ” 

So it is said,” answered Ralph. The common 
report is that Johnston, who ranked Lee in the old 
army, resented the action of Mr. Davis in putting 
Lee over him — claiming that it was not only unfair 
but illegal.” 

“ I understood,” said Ruel, that the Confeder- 
ate Congress had resolved that officers in the old army 

[369 ] 


BETHANY 


should hold the same relative rank in the Confeder- 
ate service as they had held in the old/’ 

So I am told, and there is the trouble. Lee was 
a colonel in the old army, while Joe Johnston held 
the rank of brigadier-general. They say that John- 
ston is not the kind of a man to forget a slight, and 
it is believed that the feud will hurt our cause.” 

It seems to me,” remarked the preacher, that 
it is a pity Mr. Davis has taken it into his head that 
he is a military genius. He is trying to be both 
chief-magistrate and general-in-chief. Under the 
same delusion, the French people were about to be 
completely ruined at the time Napoleon took com- 
mand. He saved the country by refusing to be con- 
trolled by the government. Mr. Davis cannot con- 
duct war operations from his office, and he ought not 
to try.” 

Squire Koberts asked : What should he do, 
Brother Wade ? ” 

If the war can not be successfully conducted by 
some competent general, some trained expert in the 
man-slaughter profession,” answered Kuel, it can 
not be done at all. Let Mr. Davis put the responsi- 
bility on his best officer, and give that officer elbow 
room. The man and the occasion will meet under 
that process, or we will never win. Neither Lincoln 
nor Davis can conduct campaigns by telegraph.” 

What general would you start with, Brother 
Wade ? ” asked the Squire. 

[270 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


“ Well, it^s none of my business, and my opinion 
hasn’t a feather’s weight, but if I were President 
Davis, I should keep down all feuds, carry out the 
intentions of Congress, give Joe Johnston the rank 
which belongs to him, and say to him in effect, ^ Suc- 
ceed, or off goes your head.’ Perhaps the unsatis- 
factory manner in which Johnston managed at Seven 
Pines has deepened the feud.” 

So you have no prejudice against West Point ? ” 
asked Ralph, with a slight smile. 

hTohe whatever. I believe in education. What 
is a West Point officer but a soldier who has been 
educated ? This hue and cry against West Point is 
all narrow nonsense. You will see that the West 
Pointers will prove to be the best commanders on 
both sides. !Yapoleon himself was a West Pointer — 
in that he was educated at a national military 
school.” 

After a moment, Ruel asked of Ralph : Is it true 
that General Toombs showed the dominecker at Mal- 
vern Hill ? ” 

“ It is not true,” Ralph answered promptly. 

What occurred is this : General Toombs was bit- 
terly opposed to the way in which Magruder was 
sacrificing the troops in reckless charges against 
earthworks. Toombs’s own brigade, at Labor-in- 
Vain Ravine, had been cut all to pieces, and he was 
almost frantic about it. At Malvern Hill, when that 
drunken Magruder ordered the charge, Toombs was 
[27X 1 


BETHANY 


madder than ever; and he denounced the butchery 
that was taking place. The West Point officers hated 
Toombs because he was always cursing them, and 
because he was not one of them. It may be that 
Toombs was screening his command as much as pos- 
sible, and was not eager to lead them again into the 
jaws of death, as he had done more than once in the 
campaign. At any rate. General D. H. Hill came 
along, was dissatisfied with the attitude of Toombs’s 
brigade, and shouted : ^ General Toombs, why don’t 
you lead your men on, sir ? You have been talking so 
much about wanting to fight, and now you have a 
chance to fight, and you are skulking behind.’ 

“ ‘ It’s false, sir ! ’ roared Toombs. ‘ I am rally- 
ing my men now to renew the charge, sir ; and if I 
come back alive you will hear from me again, sir.’ ” 
Did Toombs go in ? ” asked Puel. 

He surely did ; and when the battle was over he 
challenged Hill to a duel, but Hill declined. Toombs 
talks more than he fights, but he’s no dominecker,” 
said Kalph emphatically. 

Dominecker ? ” inquired Mrs. Roberts, puzzled. 

Ruel good-naturedly explained : “ The game 

chicken fights — is bred for that purpose — and will 
fight till he dies: the dominecker may fight a little, 
but he is not kept for that purpose : he is kept for — • 
well, he is useful in other ways. But if he does fight, 
it is but for a moment: he runs away, and will con- 
tinue to run, and will squall with fear as long as any 
[ 272 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


other rooster has the will and strength to chase him. 
When you say that a man shows the dominecker, 
you mean that he is a coward.” 

Speaking of that, I will tell you an incident of 
one of our cavalry fights,” said Uncle Ralph. 

He had ordered his horse some time before, and 
its reins were even now tied to the iron ring in the 
big oak at the front gate. They all turned eager 
faces to hear his story of the war. He said : 

Colonel William Deloney, of the Cobh Legion, 
Hampton’s cavalry corps, was down here in Georgia 
last summer. His home is in Athens, and while 
there he recruited men and horses. One day an old 
farmer, who was the colonel’s personal friend, came 
into town, sought him out, and said : ^ Bill, my only 
boy, John, has got the war fever, and being only sev- 
enteen years old, his mother and I have tried hard to 
get it out of him, and to reason with him on the sub- 
ject, but he swears that if we do not let him go he will 
run away, and so we have determined that if you 
will take him as a recruit to turn him over to you, 
because. Bill, his mother and I would rather trust 
him with you than anyone else.’ The following day 
was the time appointed for the colonel’s return to 
the army with his recruits, and bright and early the 
old farmer, his wife, and John appeared before the 
colonel. Approaching the latter the old man, with 
husky voice, said : ^ Bill, this is J ohn ; I have 
mounted him on the best racing colt I have. Take 
19 [ 373 ] 


BETHANY 


him with you, old fellow — it’s hard for us to part 
with him — but, Bill, as he will go, I have this much 
to say, if he ever shows the dominecker, don’t ever 
let him come back home to us.’ 

The colonel was confronted by a tall, handsome, 
fair-haired, slender youth of seventeen, standing 
erect, his lips compressed, hut a vivid fire fiashing 
from his steel-blue eyes. The boy never said a word, 
hut turning to his father and mother, he embraced 
them tenderly, and went to Virginia to ‘ join the 
cavalry.’ 

^^His friendship for the old people and their 
tender solicitude for their only boy caused the colonel 
to watch over him, and his interest was soon re- 
warded by the rapid improvement and soldierly 
bearing of the youth. But he had forgotten the part- 
ing injunction of the old man until one of Stuart’s 
great cavalry fights. 

When squadrons were charging and counter- 
charging on that day, when the air was filled with 
the roar of light artillery and the crack of the car- 
bine, General Pierce Young suddenly ordered 
Colonel Heloney to attack a Federal brigade that 
was rapidly forming upon the flank. ^ Get right 
among them. Bill ! ’ was the ringing command. ^ Get 
right among them, and break them up with cold 
steel. Don’t give them time to form.’ 

The words were hardly spoken, when the glori- 
ous Cobb Legion — its commander, Deloney, far in 
[ 374 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


advance — was sweeping, with glittering sabres, upon 
the Federal array; but before he was within one 
hundred feet of the enemy, something went by him 
like a hurricane’s breath — the Georgia boy, John, 
was standing on tiptoe in his stirrups, bareheaded, 
his golden hair streaming in the wind, his sabre high 
in the air; and, as he passed, on the fleet young 
thoroughbred, with the light of battle in his 
face, and eyes flashing defiance, he turned in his 
saddle, and shouted, ^ Colonel, here’s your domi- 
necker ! ’ 

Only a moment more, and the heroic youth 
struck the enemy’s line like a cannon-shot, his fair 
hair waving in the thick of battle like a plume; his 
blade flashing on every hand, right and left, until he 
was literally hewn down by the startled enemy. 
When the battle was over, Deloney looked for him 
amid the piles of the dead and wounded, and finally 
found him, mortally hurt and dying. The colonel, 
choking with grief, bent over the dying boy, who, 
rising on his elbow, his handsome young face glori- 
fied with the dying thought, a proud smile playing 
upon his ashen lips, said, ^ Colonel, tell pa I never 
showed the dominecker.’ ” 

While my Uncle Ralph was relating this incident, 
the spirit of the scene took possession of him. Un- 
consciously, he rose from his seat. The enthusiasm 
of the soldier — a passionate sympathy for the heroic 
mad-cap — blazed in his blue-gray eyes, and brought 
[ 375 ] 

TTj- 


h 


BETHANY 


a rush of color to his cheeks. And his strong hands 
kept opening and clenching, as though he, too, were 
in the fight. 

When he had finished, there was an unmistak- 
able sob from Mrs. Eoberts, and Nellie’s eyes swam 
with tears. 

The preacher broke the silence by saying in a low 
voice : The old man had killed his son ! ” 

Precisely ! ” assented Uncle Ealph. The hoy 
took the remark as a taunt, and it goaded him to his 
death.” 

The father could never have meant it so,” urged 
Mrs. Eoberts. 

Ealph had not resumed his seat; and now it was 
time to go. He had faced the guns,” he had worn 
his mask bravely, hut he had had enough. To be 
near the girl, and feel that her life no longer con- 
cerned him, was maddening. He must go away, and 
stay away. 

Without shaking hands around, the soldier bowed 
to all, and said with grave courtesy, I bid you all 
good-by.” 

As he rode off, soon lost to view at the turn of the 
road, Euel Wade said, If I am any judge, that’s a 
fine young man. His brains will never set the rivers 
on fire, perhaps, hut a stauncher, truer man, it would 
be hard to find.” 

Generous Euel Wade! None but a big-hearted 
man would have said that, I am sure. 

[ 376 ] 


THE OLD CHURCH 


Squire Roberts asked : He got his wound at Mal- 
vern Hill, didn’t he ? ” 

Yes. They say he was shot as he was leading a 
charge, with the colors in his hand.” 

I thought Jim Moseley was the color-bearer of 
the regiment,” said the Squire. 

Oh, but Moseley had been killed, I tell you. 
The colors went down with him, the men were badly 
scattered, and Ralph was the first to snatch them up 
and rush forward with them.” 

What colors do you mean ? ” asked Hellie in a 
queer voice. 

I understand,” answered Ruel, that it was the 
flag of the — th Georgia Regiment, known at first 
as the — th Georgia Battalion.” 

Why, Hellie,” exclaimed her mother, you 
ought to remember — ^you did most of the embroidery 
work on those colors yourself.” 

I do remember,” said the girl in a low voice. 

I wonder when Ralph will go back to his com- 
pany,” remarked the Squire indifferently. Seems 
to me it takes his arm a long time to get well.” 

A flash of indignation shone for a moment in the 
young minister’s eyes, but he spoke in his usual low 
tone when he answered : 

He told me he would return to the army next 
week — though his arm, as you saw to-day, is not 
strong. Give me the Book. We will read a psalm, 
have prayer, and say good-night.” 

[ 277 ] 


BETHANY 


Wliat maiden is this, with white face, set in glossy 
black curls, who goes absently up the stairs, candle 
in hand, her great eyes vacant, as one who walks in 
sleep ? 

Is it Nellie who falters toward her chamber door, 
with blanched lips which begin to tremble and 
quiver ? 

Is it Nellie who locks herself into her room, with 
quick, nervous fingers, and throws herself, undressed, 
upon the bed? 

Is it Nellie who lies there, face downward, con- 
vulsed with sobs — crying as if her heart would 
break ? 

It is Nellie. 

Ancient house by the roadside, how dreary you 
look to me in these latter years! You had your 
tragedy. You almost seem to be some gloomy mau- 
soleum, guarded from profane intrusion by the sen- 
tinel cedar, and the weird silence which makes the 
frivolous afraid. 

As I journey by, lingering at the turn of the road, 
I wonder to myself if the parlor looks as it used to 
look. Into whose ears, now, do the sea-shells murmur 
their song of the deep? And to whom went the 
autumn ferns and grasses which held, locked in their 
dainty keeping, the faded glories of that Indian 
Summer when Nellie was but a pretty girl, and 
Kalph but a dashing boy ? 

[ 278 ] 


CHAPTEE IX 


TIRED OF THE WAR 

Get the shot-gun, little man, and we’ll go squir- 
rel hunting.” 

It was Uncle Ealph speaking to me. 

Away we went, through the grove, past the negro 
quarters, along the path through the Langford field, 
until we reached the creek swamp. It was a mile 
from the house, and I reckon Uncle Ealph was tired, 
for after he had strolled along by the creek awhile, 
he sat down on a granite boulder to rest. 

This ridge, or ledge of granite, ran across the bed 
of the creek, and, as the water leaped over it, there 
was the usual gurgle, and splash and ripple, which 
a stream makes in leaping from a higher to a lower 
level. On a small scale, it was the music of the 
cascade. 

The gun lay on the leaves : Uncle Ealph drew one 
knee up between his hands, leaned hack, and began 
to watch the tumbling water, the bubbles and the 
rings— bubbles which other bubbles constantly dis- 
placed, rings which perpetually lost themselves in 
other rings. 


[279 ] 


BETHANY 


The woods were very still, and the gurgle and 
splash of the leaping water rose and fell with curious 
effect. As the current dropped over the ledge, nat- 
ural causes gave variation to its tones; and there 
were times when the voices of the cascade were 
almost human. 

With your eyes closed and your fancy released, 
you would have thought that a murmured conversa- 
tion was going on in the distance; and, once in a 
while, the sound was that of silvery laughter. 

Look, Uncle Kalph ! Yonder’s a squirrel ! Shoot 
him ! Shoot him ! ” 

My uncle never moved. He saw the squirrel; 
watched it run out upon a limb, into the afternoon 
sun. 

The beautiful creature, instinct with life, squatted 
upon the limb and began to bark. We could see its 
slender tail, vibrating, curving upward like a plume, 
and jauntily tossing, with every merry bark which 
the little creature gave. 

Shoot him. Uncle Ralph ! ” 

We will not murder any harmless creature 
to-day, little man,” he said. 

The children of the cascade continued to laugh, 
murmur, and whisper; the bubbles to swell and 
burst; the rings to widen and break, and the flow- 
ing water to run by us on its old way to its ocean 
home. Leaves were dropping from the trees. 
Yellow poplar leaves, purple sweet-gum leaves, 
[ 380 ] 


TIRED OF THE WAR 


tawny hickory leaves, crimson maple leaves — they 
fell slowly downward, with a sound like a sigh; 
and many of them entered languidly into the cur- 
rent of the stream to seek with it the river and the 
sea. 

A perfect day of Indian Summer! 

The priest-like pine, secure in its never-fading 
vestments of green, towered haughtily above the blaz- 
ing coronation robes of the autumnal forest, whose 
opulence of color glowed but for a day. 

On every summit the red sugar-berry was flying its 
battle-flag. The golden maple stood in line with the 
brilliant red elm; and, more bewilderingly splendid 
than all, was the many-tinted beech. Toward every 
upper slope and ridge ran a serried skirmish line of 
purple dogwood and blood-stained sassafras. 

The sap-sucker and the yellow-hammer beat the 
tattoo on dead limbs; squirrels were barking in 
many a tree ; the children of the cascade laughed and 
murmured and sang; and, besides these, there were 
no sounds save the whispers of the falling leaves as 
they came drifting down — ^like snow-flakes of radiant 
hue from skies which held no cloud. 

A partridge ran across the path, not thirty yards 
from us, and then another and another, until a covey 
of a dozen were huddled near the roots of a huge 
over-turned tree. 

Quick, Uncle Ralph I You can get them all at 
one shot.” 


[381 ] 


BETHANY 

He looked; he saw them; but this time he said 
nothing. 

He drew a long breath after awhile, roused him- 
self as if from sleep, and said, Let’s go to the house, 
little man.” 

He had come into the woods, I think, just to get 
away from everything and everybody. The quiet of 
the forest was subtle physic. The very melancholy 
of it all had its charm. In some of its moods, sad- 
ness becomes a luxury. And on that day no music 
could have ministered to the diseased mind so cun- 
ningly as the harmonies of the woods ; nor any com- 
panionship been so congenial as that of the rich-robed, 
but silent trees. 

I fear that I was a badly disappointed little boy. 
To go out squirrel hunting, to see the squirrels by the 
dozen, to hear them barking all about like a parcel 
of little fice, and yet kill no squirrels, seemed to me 
a mighty poor business. 

I would despise myself now, if I could derive 
pleasure in the killing, for sport, of any living crea- 
ture: but it was all different then. I gloated over 
mangled birds and stiff, glassy-eyed squirrels, just 
as other savages did. 

We, Uncle Kalph and I, were strolling at a leis- 
urely pace toward the house, as the red lancers of 
the evening sun covered the retreat of the sinking 
sun. 

It was all very beautiful ; and Ralph was stopping 
[ 282 1 


TIRED OF THE WAR 


to look, now on this belt of woods, and now on that, 
stopping to drink in once again, as if for the last 
time, the loveliness of a scene which the frost would 
soon slay, and the winter entomb. 

As I waited for Uncle Ralph, impatient, perhaps, 
at these repeated halts, what should come hopping 
right across my path hut a frog? Uever have I seen 
a frog so earnest about anything as this one was. 
He saw nothing, he heard nothing; his concentrated 
mind and body were bent to the purpose of moving 
on. Mercy ! how sober and serious and earnest he ap- 
peared to be ! Without a pause, without a glance at 
me, his bulging eyes fixed straight ahead, on he 
jumped, jumped, jumped, as if the salvation of the 
world depended upon it. All this I saw at a glance, 
and my astonishment at the rapt intensity which the 
frog was putting into his travels was no more than a 
thought, when I gave a scream, and jumped ten feet 
— he the same more or less — for, right on the track 
of the frog, and equally intent, equally oblivious to 
everything excepting the business in hand, there 
glided an immense black snake. I believe that he 
would have gone right over my foot with the same 
amazing indifference which had surprised me in the 
frog. The snake’s whole mind and body were con- 
centrated in the resolution to catch the frog, just 
as the frog had postponed and dismissed every other 
earthly consideration excepting that of getting 
further off from that snake. The feet of small boys, — 
[ 283 ] 


BETHANY 


the small boys themselves, had no existence, for the 
time, to either of the travelers. Neither snake nor 
frog noticed me in the least. 

My scream brought Uncle Ralph: and he wit- 
nessed the end of the chase. The snake caught the 
tired frog, and prepared to take supper. 

With one blow of a stick, Ralph killed the snake ; 
and the frog, which then hopped into the hushes and 
there squatted, panting and palpitating, was, by all 
odds, the happiest frog in Georgia on that night of 
October, 1862. 


When we got hack to the house we found that 
Colonel Nat Crawley had dropped in upon us — on 
his way home from the Legislature in Milledgeville. 
The old gentleman was full of the latest news and, 
after supper, he and my Uncle Ralph sat up late on 
the front piazza, talking earnestly about public af- 
fairs. The colonel had taken no part in the secession 
movement; and was, in every sense of the word, a 
non-combatant. 

Well, Ralph,” he said, you see what the Geor- 
gia Legislature has done: it has given first place as 
Senator to Ben Hill, whereas Toombs got the second 
by a scratch.” 

What does that prove, colonel ? ” 

It proves that the Union sentiment in this State 
has grown a great deal in the last year or so. If 
[ 284 ] 


TIRED OF THE WAR 


Toombs and Yancey hadn’t rushed the thing on our 
people, they wouldn’t have seceded.” 

Maybe not,” Ralph answered, but if we had 
kept on whipping the Yankees in battle, Toombs 
would have been everybody’s hero. People are get- 
ting tired of the war — that is all.” 

There’s something in that,” the colonel admitted. 

We are like all Southern races, we can’t keep up 
steam when defeat comes down upon us. The R’orth- 
ern races have greater fortitude. How do the sol- 
diers feel, Ralph, as to the outcome of it all ? ” 

So far as I know, our soldiers are full of confi- 
dence. We believe that we can beat back any odds 
against us that do not exceed three to one. Man to 
man, we are the better soldiers. We can shoot better : 
we can ride better: and we have more heart in our 
work.” 

How about Davis’s government ? Do the sol- 
diers put confidence in that ? ” 

Well,” — ^Ralph hesitated — the men in the 
ranks grumble a good deal. We think the Commis- 
sary Department is wretchedly managed: and we 
think that the way in which our sick and wounded 
are neglected is a sin and a shame.” 

There is much comment in the newspapers,” re- 
marked the colonel, about ' drunken generals ’ and 
^ brutal oflScers.’ ” 

The soldiers comment a good deal, too, on the 
same things,” said Ralph. 

[ 285 ] 


BETHANY 


“ Does Bob Toombs drink much, Balph ? We hear 
that he does ? ” 

General Toombs is acting like a man who is 
throwing himself away. He is often drunk, and is 
cursing somebody pretty much all the time. But 
in battle he is superb.’’ 

<< Why,” exclaimed the colonel, they tell it here 
that at Malvern Hill he hid behind a tree, and when 
jeered about it, answered, ^ Bob Toombs is too portly 
a person to be exposing himself for the straps of a 
damned brigadier.’ ” 

Oh, that’s all nonsense, colonel,” replied Kalph 
warmly. 

Toombs didn’t distinguish himself at Malvern 
Hill, but he didn’t do any hiding. Don’t you know 
what he did at Sharpsburg ? ” 

No, I don’t. I heard that he quit the field be- 
cause he got a wound in the hand.” 

There it is again — some of his enemies misrep- 
resenting him. If you will read General Lee’s report 
of the battle, you will see that he praises Toombs in 
the highest terms. With two regiments, Toombs de- 
fended the bridge over Antietam creek, repulsed five 
charges made by greatly superior forces, and then 
charged the enemy and put them to fiight.” 

That’s enough ! ” cried the colonel. When 
Kobert E. Lee reports that Toombs was gallant and 
efficient, there’s no more to be said.” 

“ I will tell you what worries me most,” contin- 
[ 286 ] 


TIRED OF THE WAR 


ued Ralph. It is this dividing and bickering and 
strife among ourselves.” 

How you’re talking, my hoy,” agreed the colonel. 

But according to the newspapers, the Horthem 
people are split up in the same way.” 

Yes, hut there is a difference. The Horthern 
man who opposes the war and sympathizes with us, 
stays at home and takes his satisfaction out in curs- 
ing Abe Lincoln : whereas the Southern man who op- 
posed secession and sympathized with the Horth, 
takes up his musket and goes to shooting at us.” 

By George ! ” exclaimed the colonel, I hadn’t 
thought of that. And you are right, too. Half of 
Tennessee, half of Missouri, half of Kentucky, a 
third of Maryland, and even one-fourth of Virginia 
are feeding the Union lines with troops who are just 
as good as Bob Lee’s.” 

Don’t leave out Georgia,” said Ralph gloomily. 

The mountaineers of Horth Georgia and of South 
Carolina are dead against us — and those men will 
fight. I shouldn’t wonder if a hundred thousand 
of the best men in the Union armies at this moment 
are true-blue Southern men.” 

Lincoln is managing the thing shrewdly, Ralph. 
His plea is for the Union: he says nothing about 
emancipation. Just after the battle of Bull Run, 
he had the Federal Congress pass a resolution de- 
claring that the war was being waged simply to pre- 
serve the Union, and that the Federal government 
[287 ] 


BETHANY 


had no intention of interfering with slavery. This 
kept the border states from joining us. But for that, 
Kentucky, Missouri, and Maryland would have 
seceded.” 

With the help of those states we could easily 
win the fight beyond all doubt,” exclaimed Kalph. 
“ Does that resolution mean anything, colonel, or is 
it just politics ? ” 

Politics, statecraft, diplomacy — call it what 
you will : it is a mere national soothing-syrup to keep 
the border quiet. If the Yankees whip us, slavery 
goes up the spout.” 

I can’t understand,” said Ralph, why the 
Southern people should not have been united when 
the question was one of Southern rights. How do 
you explain it, colonel ? ” 

By saying that the secession leaders went too 
fast. And had the Southern masses dreamt of such 
a conflict as this, Toombs and Yancey and Jeff Davis 
couldn’t have led a corporal’s guard out of the 
Union.” 

Yes, you are right,” said Ralph. The people 
have changed: they are getting sick of the whole 
business. I looked over the Augusta Chronicle and 
Sentinel to-day, and what do you suppose I saw ? ” 

Have no idea — calls for more recruits ? ” 

Yes, there were several calls for more recruits, 
with the fifty-dollar bounty offer added: but that 
was nothing. What shocked and disgusted me was 
[ 388 ] 


TIRED OF THE WAR 


the number of deserters that were advertised, and 
the number of men who were advertising for sub- 
stitutes.” 

The colonel laughed rather mirthlessly. 

Why, Ralph, all the papers R’orth and South 
are full of that. In the Savannah News I notice that 
one fellow comes right out and offers to pay $1,000 
for a substitute.” 

Suppose,” exclaimed Ralph, “ suppose an able- 
bodied Georgian had offered a year ago to hire an- 
other man to take his place on the battlefield ” 

He’d have been run out of the community,” in- 
terrupted the colonel emphatically. But,” he con- 
tinued, times have changed. The Confederate 
Congress knocked all the enthusiasm out of the South 
when it passed the Impressment Law and the Con- 
scription Acts.” 

But when volunteers ceased to come — ” Ralph 
began. 

The end had come,” the colonel said. 

“ Ours was a movement whose strength was in its 
enthusiasm, its popular character. When the 
people got sick of it, they quit volunteering; and 
when they quit volunteering, there was the end of 
the struggle. The people started out to set up a 
new government: they found the job bigger than 
they expected: and then they wanted to quit fight- 
ing. They wanted peace. They had a right to it. 
Jeff Davis and his cabinet had no moral right 
20 [ 389 ] 


BETHANY 

to keep up the war a day longer than the people 
wanted it.’^ 

Why, what could Davis have done ? ’’ inquired 
Ralph in astonishment. 

He could have made peace too quick to talk 
about. It was easy. Even now he could do it, at 
the drop of the hat. Abe Lincoln would be only too 
glad to put a stop to the war. We could go back into 
the Union to-morrow with no grievous humiliation, 
and with no irreparable losses.’’ 

How about this Emancipation Proclamation ? ” 
asked Ralph. 

The colonel answered, That is merely a war 
measure. It does not go into effect till next Janu- 
ary. If we return to the Union before then it does 
not go into effect at all. Even if the negroes had to 
be set free, I believe that we could get full pay for 
them, if we were to make peace now.” 

It would be a bitter pill to swallow,” said Ralph. 

The Yankees would crow over us forever. The 
negroes would be unbearable. When the old set dies 
off, and the new generations come on, the South 
would never know another day of safety or peace. 
Rather than submit to Northern tyranny and negro 
equality, I believe I would choose to die, musket in 
hand. I would say, as Bartow said at Manassas, 
^ They have killed me, boys, but never give it 
up ! ’ ” 

Ah, you are young, Ralph. Your blood is hot 
[ 390 ] 


TIRED OF THE WAR 


and your pride high. But IVe been here a long time, 
and III tell you that it will not do to yield to hot 
temper and unreasoning pride. Submission is some- 
times a ^ stoop to conquer ’ with nations as with in- 
dividuals. The fight had to come between Jeffer- 
son’s doctrines and those of Hamilton. It has come, 
and the sooner it is over the better. Jefferson’s re- 
public is as dead as Hicodemus ! ” 

Colonel, are you so sure that the ITorth will whip 
us ? You are taking it for granted, just as if it had 
already happened.” 

By no means, Ralph. !N"othing is certain in war. 
Generally the heavy battalions win; but not always. 
What I mean is that no matter which side gets 
whipped, the Hamilton doctrine of centralism, im- 
perialism, and class-rule will be on top.” 

Why, how is that, colonel ? If we establish our 
independence, the Southern Confederacy will be a 
Jeffersonian republic.” 

ITot by any means, Ralph. Jeff Davis has al- 
ready overstepped the Constitution of the Confed- 
erate States; and the tendency of his government 
toward arbitrary rule is very evident. He is putting 
the Constitution under foot, just as Mr. Lincoln is 
doing; and the advantages gained by centralism 
during the war will never be given up by either gov- 
ernment. At the time Ben Hill knocked William L. 
Yancey in the head with that ink-bottle, in the Con- 
federate Congress, Yancey was vainly trying to re- 
[ 291 ] 


BETHANY 

sist the undemocratic measures of the Davis gov- 
ernment.” 

Was Yancej much hurt? ” asked Ralph. 

He was struck on the temple just as he was 
taking his seat, and the blow stunned him. Hill was 
standing some ten or fifteen feet away, and had 
thrown the large, heavy ink-stand with all his 
might.” 

What was the row about ? ” 

There had been angry debate^ between the two, 
and the lie had been passed. It seems pitiful that 
the two great Southern leaders — Yancey and Toombs 
— should have been so much dwarfed by the revolu- 
tion they set in motion. Yancey is in Alabama, 
dying, a disappointed man, while Toombs is nothing 
hut a brigadier, chafing at his impotence, and drown- 
ing in drink the genius he used to glory in.” 

Colonel, your talk almost gives me the blues. 
Shall we not go to bed ? ” 

Yes, we will turn in. I wish I could see things 
differently, but I can’t. Hell might have jubilated 
on the day when that Dutch vessel unloaded the first 
cargo of niggers at Jamestown. They have cursed 
the South : they will yet curse the North. It will take 
all the sustaining, coercive and propelling power of 
the white race to keep the blacks of this country from 
going back, as they have done in Hayti, to barbar- 
ism, to serpent worship, to human sacrifice, to can- 
nibalism — under the despotic sway of the Voodoo 


CHAPTEK X 


AS WAR LOOKED TO US AT HOME 

The strain of the war was beginning to tell upon 
our people. 

They were dumfounded to see how desperately the 
Xorth persisted in the purpose to conquer us. As the 
time rolled on, and the Union armies constantly 
grew larger, the wonder and anxiety of the South 
intensified. 

At first, only a few, such as Mr. Stephens, had 
believed that there would be any war. The great 
majority scoffed at the idea. For a long while, we 
felt assured that our brethren of the Xorth would re- 
fuse to let the fanatics drive them into an armed 
invasion of the South. 

Even to this day there seems to be something mon- 
strous about it, something abnormal, something mys- 
terious. It is one of those historical happenings that 
was incredible until it happened. 

The fact that they were willing to deluge the land 
with blood to force us back in the Union will for- 
ever be the best proof that our leaders were right 
[ 393 ] 


BETHANY 


when they told us that the Union was so organized, 
and the policy of the government so managed, that 
the North eternally gets the best of the bargain. 

To the impartial reasoner it will always seem in- 
disputable that the Northern States would have let 
the erring sisters depart in peace,’’ had it not been a 
fact that the Southern States were merely rich prov- 
inces from which Northern capital drew tribute. 
The loss of these fertile fields, which the North ex- 
ploits by federal legislation, could not he afforded. 
New England would have reverted to the desert from 
which Southern tribute helped so materially to rescue 
her. The Northern manufacturer would have lost 
his best customer. Better to keep the South in the 
Union, where she was the helpless victim of the New 
England commercial system, than to allow her to set 
up a separate government which could build tariff 
walls of its own. When all is said and done, this 
was the milk in the cocoanut. Northern capital 
would not have allied itself to abolitionism and the 
policy of coercion had it not been for reasons com- 
mercial. 

New England wealth never saw the day it could 
continue its growth if bereft of the power to 
plimder the agricultural sections of the Union. Na- 
tional legislation had given her this power; and 
she had no intention of resigning it. Hence 
her refusal to let the erring sisters depart in 
peace.” 


[ 294 ] 


AS WAR LOOKED AT HOME 


It was lonesome on the old homestead in those 
war-times. 

It looked like everybody gone from home.” The 
pressure of privations and hardships began to be felt. 
There was no more coffee and white sugar : no more 
white writing-paper : no more elegant shoes, hats, and 
cloth. Silver and gold hid out.” We used coarse 
home-made paper, coarse home-made shoes, coarse 
home-made hats. Our coffee was home-made, too. 
We parched wheat, or meal, or potatoes chipped into 
small cubes : the liquid made from these, when 
boiled with water, was Confederate coffee. Our cur- 
rency was home-made, too. There was plenty of it, 
such as it was. 

The spirit of the songs had changed. They no 
longer breathed hope, confidence, martial enthusi- 
asm. Their tone was that of defiant endurance. The 
martyr-plaint made itself heard. We began to glorify 
the patience with which we endured. 

We couldn’t get new silks, satins, worsteds, and 
calicos, nor beautiful stylish hats: we put up with 
palmetto head-gear, and garbed ourselves in rough 
unlovely homespun cloth. 

So the patriotic bard voiced the sentiments of the 
people in the lines which everybody began to sing : 

homespun dress is plain, I know, 

My hat’s palmetto, too. 

But then it shows what Southern girls 
For Southern rights will do.” 

[ 395 ] 


BETHANY 


The song had the true ring, you see, hut yet it 
carried a consciousness of sacrifice. It was the pre- 
lude to the songs which were to have the sadder 
melody of martyrdom. 

Most of the able-bodied men were in the army. 
As a rule, you would have found, in the villages, no 
one excepting the preacher, the doctor, the enrolling 
officer, the county officials, and the grayheards. Out 
in the country the miller was exempt, and so was 
the farmer who would superintend a certain number 
of plantations, the owners of which were in the 
ranks. 

As a rule, the Southern man who was capable of 
hearing arms, and who was not embraced in some of 
the exemptions, enlisted. Some hired substitutes, 
hut, after a while, all had to go. 

The soldier who came home wounded was a hero. 
In every way possible the people, old and young, 
male and female, gave him proof of their apprecia- 
tion, sympathy and admiration. 

The maimed soldier was himself proud of his 
wounds. His scarred breast or empty sleeve gave 
him higher rank in the hearts of the people than any 
title could have done. 

The negroes managed the farm, the work being 
done under black foremen, whom my grandfather 
had trained to his methods. The war made no dif- 
ference in them that I could see. We were not 
afraid. If my mother felt uneasy any night, she 
[ 396 ] 


AS WAR LOOKED AT HOME 


would have West, or Jim, bring his blanket and his 
axe, and sleep outside the door in the piazza. 'No 
black terror in those days. 

It was the patriotic duty of our old men, the gray- 
beards, to keep alive the courage and confidence of 
the people. 

It was the lightest of tasks at first. Then it be- 
came the heaviest. But the graybeards did their 
duty. I can testify to the faithfulness with which 
they toiled to keep up our spirits. Out of the small- 
est of crumbs of comfort, they would bake us corpu- 
lent loaves. Every little victorious skirmish became 
a glorious triumph for Southern valor. 

All honor to the Southern graybeards! To the 
very last, they were constant, hoping against hope, 
comforting the widow and the orphan, attending the 
sick and the wounded soldiers — doing everything 
that good old men could do. 

Fine old fellows! How courageously they wore 
cotton trousers, dyed sky-blue, copperas yellow, or 
bay-mule brown ! 

And how wonderfully these cotton breeches could 
behave themselves — twisting into all sorts of irregu- 
lar curves ; bagging where other breeches were tight ; 
tight where other breeches bagged ; inclining always 
to get away from the ankles of the patriarchs, and 
to leave the knit socks in a state of unseemly ex- 
posure. 

At what time the Seven Years’ Itch happened 
[297 ] 


BETHANY 

along, I do not now remember, but I testify that it 
came. 

Do I not recollect, as though it were yesterday, 
bow my mother used to stand me up before the fire- 
place every night at bedtime, stripped stark 
naked ” ; and how she would smear me all over — 
back, flanks, front — from head to heel, with a fear- 
ful mixture composed of hog lard and tar and sul- 
phur and other nasty old things; and then sack me 
up in something, and pack me away in the bed, where 
I lay like a pig in a gritty, grimy, filthy wallow? 

Ah, how we haunted the post-ofiice at mail time! 
How we yearned for letters, yet dreaded them! 
What griefs came every day with these letters — sol- 
diers stricken with disease, soldiers torn with 
wounds, soldiers dead on Virginia battle-fields. 

We could follow dimly the progress of the great 
war: the rise and fall of commanding generals: the 
ebb and flow of the tide of success. We could almost 
see the kind faces of the Virginia ladies as they fed 
our hungry fathers and brothers at tables, which 
were loaded all day and half the night; and where 
batch after batch of tattered, tired, famished men 
would feast, give heartfelt thanks, and march on. 
Yes, and we could see the compassionate faces of 
these good women, bending over the cots in the hos- 
pitals where our sick and wounded were stretched in 
pain; and in our homes in Georgia we blessed them 
from our souls, as our loved ones there did bless them. 

[ 398 ] 


AS WAR LOOKED AT HOME 


When yon would know the cause for the peculiar 
and reverent love which the lower Southern States 
bear to Virginia, do not fall into the error of thinking 
it has anything to do with her long line of Presi- 
dents, or her trumpeted list of F. F. V.’s. Ko; 
we love old Virginia because she fed us when we 
were hungry, nursed us when we were sick, and 
stanched our wounds when the lifeblood was oozing 
away. 

I well remember the day when the news of Mal- 
vern Hill came to Bethany. There was a voice of 
lamentation throughout the village, so great had 
been the loss of life on that bloody field. I was at 
the post-office, on father^s bobtail gray horse, waiting 
for the mail. 

There was no letter for us, and when I reported 
at home that there was none, poor old grandfather 
broke down. His weather-beaten face worked with 
the tremors that run before tears, and he turned to 
my mother, saying in a broken voice, Martha, 
Peter is dead. I know it: I feel it: I can see him 
lying dead on the field ’’ — and the old man cried 
pitifully. 

Peter, the older son, was not dead : after a time he 
came home: but he was bent double with rheuma- 
tism; his legs were stiff as posts; and he never 
walked again. He had been with Stonewall Jack- 
son on that terrible forced march to Romney. 

[ 299 ] 


BETHANY 


Had we known that mj Uncle Kalph had fought 
at Malvern Hill, he would have shared my grand- 
father’s tears, hut we thought he was at Richmond, 
sick with measles. 

Father being dead. Uncle Ralph in the army, and 
grandfather almost an invalid, my mother had to 
depend upon me a great deal, so far as relations with 
the outside world were concerned. 

The old hoh-tailed gray horse, Charley, which had 
been my father’s saddle and buggy horse, was as 
gentle and as stiff as he could he, and I was not a bit 
afraid to ride him. My legs were too short to reach 
the stirrups, so the stirrup-leathers of my father’s 
old saddle were shortened until the iron stirrups were 
not half-way down the leather skirts. Then somebody 
would lift me and place me on. I must have been a 
comical sight; such a small hoy on such a big gray 
horse. People would stop to look at me, as I soberly 
jogged to and fro on mother’s errands; and they 
would guy me in a mild, good-natured fashion. 

Buddie, does your head swim ? ” The favorite 
comparison likened me to a frog sitting on a tussock. 
I think a thousand men, women and children told 
me that was what I looked like. The opinion was 
imanimous, and it must have been so. 

However, there was no sting in all this. It 
was not unkindly meant or taken. I felt that 
everybody was friendly. The time was yet a long 
[ 300 ] 


AS WAR LOOKED AT HOME 

way off when I would know what it was to have 
enemies. 

So, old Charley and I became local celebrities, in 
a small way. Everybody knew me : everybody knew 
old Charley. Often one or the other of the gray- 
beards in Bethany would come and chat with me 
kindly, while we were waiting for the mail, and 
would tell me some incident of my father’s life, or 
relate some anecdote, illustrating the sagacity or the 
gentleness of old Charley. They would pat the good 
horse on the shoulder, or smooth and straighten his 
foretop under the brow-hand, or softly rub his noso. 
There never was a better horse than old Charley. 

Sometimes mother would give me a bolt of home- 
spun cloth to carry to Mrs. Fuller, who did the dye- 
ing for the neighborhood. 

Kow, Bobbie,” she would say, tell Mrs. Fuller 
to dye this piece perfectly black,” and away we 
would go, old Charley and I. 

The Fuller women would be at their tubs, out in 
the yard. 

^^Good-evenin’, Missis Fuller!” I would call. 

Here is a bolt of cloth mother wants you to dye 
for her, please, ma’am.” 

“ What color, Buddie ? ” 

She says she wants it perfully black, please, 
ma’am.” 

Mrs. Fuller and the girls would laugh ; and would 


answer : 


[ 301 ] 


BETHANY , 


^^All right, Buddie, it shall be dyed perfully 
black,’’ and they would all laugh some more. 

Good-by, Missis Fuller,” I would say, and then 
old Charley and I would jog along home. 

Every now and then I was sent to Squire Bob- 
erts’s on some little matter or other, and, whenever 
I was there, I would beg Miss Nellie to play on the 
piano for me. She always did so. I listened with 
such rapt attention that, perhaps, she considered me 
her favorite audience. At any rate, I gave my whole 
soul to the music when she was playing, and if any 
one in the room tried to talk to me then, it annoyed 
me wonderfully. I never could enjoy music in a 
room full of gabblers. Melody and silence must be 
sisters, I think. 

Miss Nellie was quick to realize my passion for 
music; and it came to pass that when she was to 
play for me, she would lock the parlor doors. 

Now we won’t be disturbed, little man,” she 
would say, and she would begin to play. 

She would never try any frivolous, jig-a-jig stuff 
when let alone. She could rattle it off, if some 
person in the room who liked that kind of thing 
called for it, but she had no fondness for it. The 
melody she loved had soul in it. And as she played 
for me, moving on from piece to piece, it seemed to 
me that I entered another world — a higher, a purer, 
a brighter world. 

Never did I say to her at the end of any piece, 

[303 ] 


AS WAR LOOKED AT HOME 


that was sweet,” or that was grand ” ; the feel- 
ings she roused in me could not be expressed in that 
simple way, if expressed at all. 

Kowhere else did I hear the class of music with 
which she intoxicated me: nobody else that I knew 
had her genius for musical expression. As I sat near 
her and listened to her favorite selections, I felt a 
purifying breath, a lifting upward of the mind and 
heart, which it would be impossible to describe. 

It seemed to me that if I could always listen to 
inspiration like that, always he elevated and purified 
like that, I should dwell forever amid holy thoughts, 
and never touch again the muck and mire of sordid 
life. Yes, I confess it! while under the spell of 
this divine melody, I felt vague yearnings for the 
better life, the crude longing to do something good 
and great, the infinite aspiration to enter the 
company of the noble martyrs to duty, who have 
given their lives to the effort to uplift the human 
race. 

Dreaming, little man ? ” 

It was Miss E’ellie who spoke : she had now ceased 
to play. I had been dreaming, I suppose. Very 
much of a dreamer is anyone who hopes to dwell 
often, or long, up on the summits to which I had been 
lifted. 

Miss Yellie,” I asked seriously, ^^do you get all 
that music out of your books, or do you make up 
some of it in your head ? ” 

[ 303 ] 


BETHANY 

She laughed merrily. The question both amused 
and flattered her. 

What a funny little boy you are, Bobbie. Do 
you think that I can make music in my head ? ” 
Why, yes, I do. They say you can even write 
poetry, and anyone who can do that can do anything, 
almost.” 

It was good to hear her peals of laughter : it was 
sweeter than the gurgle of water, or the song of 
birds. 

“ I say. Miss Nellie, let me see some of your 
poetry.” 

Still laughing, she went to the book-case, opened 
a little drawer in the writing-desk division of that 
huge piece of furniture, and took out a thin volume, 
covered in red velvet and stamped in gilt. It was 
one of those little album-books, filled with blank 
leaves of fine paper, which every young lady coveted 
before the war. Books of this description were de- 
signed to contain sentimental things young ladies 
might wish to write, or might induce their friends to 
write. 

Nellie held the volume, and allowed me to read 
several little bits of rhyme which I considered ex- 
quisite. “ To the mocking-bird,” “ To the first 
snowdrop,” and so forth. I noticed that she picked 
her way with some care through the book, not show- 
ing me every page, and holding many of the leaves 
firmly together, as if something were hid there. 

[304 ] 


AS WAR LOOKED AT HOME 


As I was going out to get upon old Charley and 
start home, who should he coming in but the hand- 
some preacher, Ruel Wade ? She greeted him pleas- 
antly; and they both stood looking at me as I pre- 
pared to mount. 

Ordinarily, when no one lifted me, old Charley 
had to he led by the bridle to some high stump, or 
to a fence, from which elevation I could get into the 
saddle. 

Let me put you up, Bobbie,” cried the preacher. 

He took me with one hand by the arm, and with 
the other by the seat of my breeches, and he swung 
me up as though he had been hoisting small boys all 
his life. 


21 


[ 305 ] 


CHAPTER XI 


A LIEUTENANT 

One day it fell to my Uncle Ralph’s luck to get a 
letter from home. Grandfather’s palsied hand was 
past writing now, but he could make known to mother 
what to say, and she would write. 

In this particular letter, after having written the 
usual and natural things which grandfather indi- 
cated, she added a word of her own. As this por- 
tion of the letter concerns us, and the other does 
not, I will quote it ; 

Dear Brother — It is so lonesome here at home 
that I made Wilson hitch up old Charley last 
Sunday, and Bobbie drove me to Bethany. When 
we walked into the church there was a big crowd, for 
I soon learned that it was Ruel Wade’s last sermon 
here. He has been called to one of the big city 
churches in Atlanta. After services there was a gen- 
eral hand-shaking and saying of farewell. Many of 
the sisters broke down and cried. Ruel himself was 
very solemn, and seemed very sorry to leave us. 
Squire Roberts and Mrs. Roberts and Xellie all told 
[ 306 ] 


A LIEUTENANT 


him good-hj about the same time I did. It was an 
affectionate farewell, hut I own that I was surprised 
to see him part from Nellie in that way in public, 
the same as if she was no more to him than any 
other dear friend. And her manner to him was no 
more than that. All the way home I was thinking 
about it. If they are engaged to be married he 
wouldnH have parted from her like that. As sure 
as you are bom, somebody has been telling stories. 

We have all jumped at conclusions, and I be- 
lieve that we have been wrong. I do not know whom 
Nellie loves. She may not love anybody. But I 
would almost take my Bible oath that she is not now 
in love with Kuel Wade. Some of the neighbors say 
that he made love to her and that she kicked him: 
some say it never went so far as that. I don’t know 
how it is. 

If I was a young man, and in love with Nellie, 
I would not take ^ No ’ from any lips but hers. 

“ So no more at present from 

Your affectionate sister, 

Maetha a. Hoeton.''^ 

Why, hello ! what’s the matter with Ealph ? ” 
exclaimed his friend Cullars. Eor my uncle had 
pulled off his cap, had thrown it up in the air, and 
had yelled like a Comanche Indian. The open letter 
shook in his hand. 

“ Gone crazy, Ealph ? ” 

[307 ] 


BETHANY 


For reply, my uncle caught his friend in his arms, 
lifted him as though he were a child, hugged him 
hard and close, and said, half laughing, half crying : 

Good news, old man ! Good news from home ! 
I’m as happy as a king ! ” 

Toombs Cullars was a gentleman, no matter how 
rough his ways might seem, and he now said nothing 
more than : God bless you, Ralph ! It’s good to hear 
you laugh again. I reckon I know how it is, and 
you’ll want to be to yourself,” and off he went, 
whistling “ The Girl I Left Behind Me.” 

Ruddy and strong was my Uncle Ralph when he 
got home on furlough in the early days of 1863. 
There was light in his face, there was springiness in 
his step. And in my eyes he was handsomer than he 
had ever been, for I was carried away with that lieu- 
tenant’s uniform he wore. 

We met him at the cars in Bethany; and there 
was the customary crowd of old men and anxious 
women, waiting for the mail. They gathered around 
my uncle, and for an hour he had to answer ques- 
tions about husbands, sons and brothers. Squire 
Roberts was there, as he was every day, and my 
uncle was particularly polite to him. It seemed to 
me that the Squire was considerably impressed by 
Uncle Ralph’s new uniform, and by the title of 
Lieutenant Horton,” which some of the old men 
gave him. 


[308 ] 


A LIEUTENANT 


How we did push old Charley going home! He 
seemed to creep. I think we made him gallop. My 
uncle sorter blushed as he shook hands with mother ; 
hut he was feeling so good that he laughed, too. 
And how warm and reverent was his greeting to his 
father! The old man fairly shed tears of joy. I 
think he had never seen anything in his life that was 
so glorious in his eyes as that son of his, clad in his 
lieutenant’s uniform. 

His hoy, his favorite hoy, the Benjamin of his old 
age, wearing the proof of his merit, won not hy 
favor, but hy gallantry upon the field of battle ! 

Indeed, grandfather was proud that day. 

It was a cold hut clear afternoon: no wind was 
blowing, and there would be a moon. Every attention 
having been paid to the home-folks, my uncle now 
feels free to go on a mission of his own. His bay 
is at the door, and, with a shy look at my mother, 
he draws on his cloak, buckles his spur, and steps 
out into the yard. In a minute the hard ground 
rings to the gallop of the horse; and I listen as it 
grows faster and faster. I can hear the sound turn 
in to the south, half a mile away, where the cross- 
roads lead down to the piney-woods. It grows fainter 
and fainter, and then in the distance it is lost. I 
know very well where that cross-road goes, and I 
know where the swift ride will end. 

Guess who has come back from the army,” called 
[ 309 ] 


BETHANY 


out Squire Roberts to bis wife and daughter, as be 
entered tbe sitting-room that evening on bis return 
from Betbany. 

“ Sam Lokey ? ’’ asked Mrs. Roberts. 

No, not Sam. Guess again.” 

Pres Morris ? ” 

“ No, not Pres. He is Longstreet’s courier, you 
know, and I do believe be would ratber stay with 
Longstreet than to come borne. Guess again.” 

Peter Short?” 

No, Peter stutters too bad ever to tell them be 
wants a furlough. They’d imagine be wanted some- 
thing else. It’s Ralph Horton that’s come home, 
and he’s a lieutenant. Wbo’d a thought that wild 
young fellow would have gone up like that ? ” 

Why, honey,” said his wife, Ralph was no 
wilder than lots of others; and they always did say 
he would fight. The army gave him just the chance 
he needed.” 

The Squire answered : It isn’t every man who 
would fight before the war that has made a good sol- 
dier. I hear ’em say that Bill Dukes, the bully of 
the Panhandle district, that had whipped his weight 
in wildcats many a time, is a perfect dominecker 
in the army. Whenever there is a battle. Bill gets 
sick, and stays sick till it’s over. That’s what I hear 
’em say.” 

Well, let’s have supper,” said Mrs. Roberts. 
“ Nellie, you go see to it, child.” 

[ 310 ] 


A LIEUTENANT 


Now, I half suspect that the good old mother was 
not so much concerned about the supper as she pre- 
tended to he. I half suspect that she was offering 
Nellie the chance to escape notice and to be alone. 
Did not that motherly soul know by intuition how 
her daughter felt? Had she not seen those swollen 
eyes and held the aching head on her maternal breast ? 
Had she not divined Nellie’s secret, and had she not 
whispered many a night, Don’t cry, Nellie — it will 
all come right.” 

Yes, indeed, Mrs. Eoherts knew. 

So she settled herself by the side of the Squire, 
and made him tell her the news. What had he 
heard in Bethany, and what had Ealph said about 
this one and that one, and so on, till Nellie had had 
her little respite all to herself, and was ready to say, 
in a voice that was fairly steady : Come to 

supper ! ” 

The meal was not over, Nellie tasting nothing, 
when her quick ear caught the sound of galloping 
hoofs. 

Who had said that Ealph was coming? 

Had there been letters, back and forth, or messages 
sent and answered ? I do not know. But this I know 
— she had no sooner caught the sound than she rose 
and left the room. 

« Why, Nellie hasn’t finished her supper. Where’s 
she going ? ” began the Squire. 

But the good old wife had a way of managing the 
[ 311 ] 


BETHANY 


Squire, and she never used it with more promptness 
and effect than upon this night. 

Soon they were comfortably seated by the fire in 
their room; and she was listening with admiring at- 
tention and absorbed interest to many things which 
she had long known and which she could have told 
better than the Squire. 

The headlong ride ends at the old tree where the 
iron ring is nailed. The reins are fastened quickly; 
and then, with one hurried glance at the house, where 
bright lights shine through the windows, Ralph 
walks to the gate. 

Who is it that sits on the lowest step of the porch, 
waiting ? Who is it that rises, as he enters the yard, 
and comes down the walk to meet him ? The moon- 
light embraces and glorifies her, there^s a shimmer of 
silver on her coal-black hair, and a halo about her 
queenly head, and in her eyes a light from the inner 
world. 

When she first stood up, he was startled : he could 
not know her in the shadow of the house ; but as she 
came down the walk, in the full radiance of the 
moon, his arms flew open, and there was a glad cry, 
with almost a sob in it. 

Nellie!’’ 

He caught her in his arms. 

The curls were on his breast, and: 

[ 312 ] . 


A LIEUTENANT 


Oh, Ealph, I know now that I love you ! ” she 
whispered as he covered her with kisses. 

He led her to their garden-seat under the cedar, 
put his cloak about her, and there he explained 
all. With passionate self-condemnation, he told 
how he had been deceived, how he had honestly mis- 
understood, how he had convinced himself that she 
was lost to him, how he had accepted his fate, believ- 
ing himself helpless. 

But, Nellie, I should never have gotten over it. 
I would have lived and died your lover. From afar 
off, I should have worshipped you till my last 
breath.” 

Happy soldier! Happy maiden! On this night, 
if on no other, drink the nectar that is divine ! For 
after all is said and done, life holds nothing more 
precious than youth and love. 

And, reader, whenever you shall have found the 
! soul which responds to yours, go, give thanks to the 
gods, and prize your treasure as a miser his gold ; for 
' not another soul in all your life-joumey, whether 
I friend or brother or child, will be wholly yours, de- 
I voted, before all, to you. 

Crowding millions are around you, hut out of them 
all you may expect not more than one to love you for 
yourself, sometimes in spite of yourself, with perfect 
self-sacrifice, with patient, loyal, inspiring love. 

To any true wife any true husband may say: 

In all the universe we stand alone — we two. 

[313 ] 


BETHANY 


Friends will fail us: children come into our lives, 
and pass on — to find those whom they will love 
better, even as you and I did, my dear. 

Others will tire of me : you will not. Others 
will he cold to me when I most need their warmth: 
you will not. In the day when the clouds droop low, 
and the wind blows out of the East, it is you, dear — 
not another! — ^who will put your arms about my 
neck, lay your cheek against my own, and whisper 
the words which give me consolation. 

Kiss me, dear : and my shortcomings — ^forgive 
them, oh, forgive ! ” 

For, mark it, reader, there is within the heart and 
soul of the best woman a purity and a heroism which 
no man ever possessed ; and, beside the best of wives, 
even the best of husbands will repeat with hitter 
self-reproach, the puhlican^s prayer of God, he 
merciful to me, a sinner ! ” 

As Kalph and Nellie entered the room where the 
Squire and Mrs. Koherts were sitting, the old gentle- 
man looked up in considerable surprise, for his 
pretty daughter had her arm within Kalph’s, and 
both of them were unusually high-colored about the 
cheeks. 

The soldier’s frankness, the good mother’s tact, 
and Nellie’s occasional word were not a great while 
in getting the Squire mentally adjusted to the situa- 
tion. If he still held any part of his former ohjec- 
[ 314 ] 


A LIEUTENANT 


tion to Ralph as a suitor, he was not prepared to offer 
any stiff combat in the teeth of Ralph’s fine record, 
and the combined resources of Nellie and her mother. 

Barring Ralph’s dissipations, there had been no 
reason, at any time, why the alliance with him 
should not be a good one : and now that he had sowed 
his wild oats, and proved himself a man to be proud 
of, why 

Thus, you see how the engagement became a matter 
of course. It requires stouter stuff than the Squire 
was built of to put up a winning fight against lover, 
sweetheart and old lady combined. 

It was late when the soldier rose to go. Nellie 
went with him to the gate ; stood there while he un- 
hitched his horse; stood there till he rode up, bent 
down — and so. Good-night, Good-night! 

As Nellie parted with her mother that night, she 
hugged her warm and close, and whispered. 

Mother, you have been so good to me,” and she took 
the wrinkled face in her soft, white hands and kissed 
it, kissed it, until the furrows were well-nigh gone, 
and the lost roses of youth back again. 


[ 315 ] 


CHAPTER XII 


GOOD-BY, SWEETHEAET” 

It had been a beautiful winters evening. The 
cold was invigorating, for the air was crisp and dry. 

In a setting of glossy green leaves, the holly ber- 
ries glowed like coral. The magnolia held out to 
the songless mocking-bird its red-seeded cone, and 
the quarrelsome blue-jay greedily devoured the black 
cherries upon the wild laurel. 

The crested redbird brought bis sober-tinted mate 
to peck at the burrs of the arbor-vitse, and the native 
swamp-sparrow, with bis loud click, click,” sought 
bis roosting-place in the scuppemong vine. 

Lieutenant Ralph and Xellie bad promenaded in 
the grove, in the flower-garden, in the piazza, talking 
over old times, recalling every treasured reminis- 
cence. Instinctively, they bad avoided the future. 
Deep down in their souls they dreaded to look ahead. 

Separation, suspense, the perils of the march, the 
camp, the fleld, the heart-sickness of perpetual fear 
for months to come — all this was in the mind of 
each; and Xellie, particularly, was sadly depressed, 
for this was the evening her lover was to say good-by. 

[ 316 ] 


“GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART” 


During each day of his brief furlough, he had spent 
part of it with her. They had been happy days. 
And, oh, how swiftly the limit had been reached ! 

There was many a gap in the conversation. The 
voices would die away: the eyes would dreamily 
wander off to vacancy, as the mind was lost in those 
unutterable wanderings so common to this tragedy 
we call life. Dim shadows crept between them and 
the stars: vague forebodings tempered the cup of 
their bliss. 

Come, sing me some songs, some of the good old 
songs,’’ he said at last, and they went into the parlor. 

A hickory-wood fire glowed fervently on the 
hearth, and every now and then, there was heard a 
succession of stifled little explosions from the burning 
pile. 

The fire is popping snow,” Ralph remarked. 

There were some low gray clouds as we came in.” 

But it doesn’t always snow when the fire has been 
popping that way,” she answered absently. In 
the summer whenever papa sees lightning in the 
north, he says it is going to rain, but the sign often 
fails.” 

It is like the nose-itching sign of my sister 
Martha,” went on Ralph. Whenever her nose 
itches she never fails to exclaim, as she rubs vehe- 
mently, ‘ Somebody’s coming ’ ; and her faith in the 
sign is not to be shaken. If some one comes within a 
week, the ^ sign ’ has been vindicated.” 

[317 ] 


BETHANY 


What shall I play for you, Kalph ? ” she asked, 
turning to the piano. 

‘^Play any of your favorites. Anything in the 
way of music is good to me. When it comes to that, 
I^m as easily pleased as a child.” 

Is that meant for my encouragement ? ” she in- 
quired with a shade of a smile on her pensive face. 

Oh, now, Nellie, you know what I mean. Music 
is good, better, best with me : there is no bad music.” 

But most good music is very melancholy, some- 
how,” she said reflectively. 

^ Dixie ’ isn’t a bit melancholy,” he contended. 

But is ^ Dixie ’ really good music ? ” she asked 
with the same shade of a smile. 

Why of course it’s really good music, Nellie. 
Whenever we boys in the army hear ‘ Dixie,’ it sets 
us wild and we feel like we could storm hell ! Ex- 
cuse me, Nellie.” 

Well, then,” she said demurely, I will admit 
that ^ Dixie ’ is good music, just as ' Home, Sweet 
Home’ is good poetry and music combined.” 

“ Certainly it is,” he assented warmly. ^ Home, 
Sweet Home ’ is the best kind of poetry and music. 
Why, let me tell you something.” 

Then he told that story of Sharpsburg: how the 
two armies, after their bloody battle, were resting 
on their arms, the Antietam separating them ; a Sab- 
bath silence, with a thousand recollections of the day 
[ 318 ] 


‘‘GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART” 


and its home associations softening every heart : how 
the regimental bands of the two armies were rivalling 
each other in the playing of favorite airs: how 
“ Dixie ’’ was given amid “ rebel yells ’’ on one side, 
and “ The Star-Spangled Banner ’’ amid “ huzzas ” 
on the other : and how, then, one of the Union bands 
had struck up “ Home, Sweet Home ” : how every 
band in the Union army had followed the lead : how 
the resistless melody had crossed the dead-line which 
lay between the two armies, had obliterated the pas- 
sions of the day before, and, as if leading a con- 
quering host of the better angels of our nature, 
had set every band of the Confederates to playing 
“ Home, Sweet Home.’’ The Blue and the Gray, 
for one brief hour, were brothers again ; the divided 
hearts rejoined by the golden links of a song. 

“ How, Hellie,” exclaimed Ralph triumphantly, 
“ poetry and music which can do such as that must 
be good ! ” 

The incident thrilled her. Her lively fancy re- 
produced the whole scene. With kindling eyes, she 
exclaimed : 

“ I have no doubt that every private soldier in 
both armies, thinking then of home and loved ones, 
would have been delirious with joy if it had been 
announced that the war was ended.” 

“Ho doubt of that,” he agreed. 

“ While the bands were playing ‘ Home, Sweet 
Home,’ suppose a few private soldiers in each army 
[ 319 ] 


BETHANY 


had cried out that the war must close, that they 
would kill their brothers no longer, the two armies 
might have commingled in a mighty love-feast.” 

Kalph smiled sadly, and said : There would have 
been no results, excepting that the private soldiers 
you speak of would have been shot like dogs.” 

Shot ? Who would have shot them ? ” she asked 
in distress. 

Their own officers,” he answered. 

Why ? How ? I do not know what you mean.” 

Here’s what I mean,” he said. The conduct 
you speak of would have been such a breach of mil- 
itary discipline that the officers would have pun- 
ished it with death.” 

Well, then,” she cried in horror, military dis- 
cipline must be the cruelest monster on earth.” 

It is,” said Ralph briefly. 

Pausing a moment, he resumed : I will give you 
an instance.” 

Then he related the story of the Southern boy 
who had rushed into the army when he saw every- 
body else doing so. This boy panted for active 
service. It happened that he was assigned for duty 
on the Georgia coast, a short distance below Sa- 
vannah. 

To fight sand-flies by day, mosquitoes by night, 
and fleas at all hours was, here, the chief occupation 
of the weary soldier. 

Finally, the young volunteer could stand it no 

[ 330 ] 


‘‘GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART” 


longer. He escaped from camp, and at once joined 
a cavalry command in the West where there was 
active service. He had wanted to fight; he went 
where there was fighting, and he fought gallantly and 
continuously. At length, in the course of the ever- 
shifting scenes of war, a portion of the Georgia 
troops who had been on duty below Savannah were 
transferred to the West, and they came in contact 
with the cavalry which the deserter had joined. He 
was recognized. His arrest as a deserter, his trial 
by court-martial, and his condemnation followed. 
The fact that he had deserted only from one branch 
of the service to another, with the evident intention 
of seeking the post of the greatest danger and the 
most useful duty, counted for nothing. 

He was sentenced to death. But the Confeder- 
ate columns were being harassed and hard pressed; 
and the execution of the sentence was deferred. The 
soldier was aware of the facts — ^knew that he had 
been condemned to die. The column hastened on: 
night came, and with the night a terrible storm. It 
was pitch dark. Men and horses stumbled about in 
helpless confusion. Many lost the road completely. 
It was impossible to see one^s hand in front of one’s 
face. 

In the universal and indescribable disorders of 
the march, the condemned soldier got separated from 
his guard. He wandered in one direction; they 
in another. With the morning came clear skies ; and 
22 [ 331 ] 


BETHANY 


a halt. Plere was the opportunity to shoot that de- 
serter; orders were issued accordingly. 

But the officer charged with the duty could not 
find the soldier. The officer was not sorry. It was 
felt that the case was a hard one. 

But, lo and behold! about ten o’clock in the 
forenoon who should come straggling into the camp 
hut the deserter ! 

“ Captain/’ he said, I got lost in the storm last 
night and rambled away ofi in the dark. It took me 
a long time to catch up, hut here I am.” 

I am sorry to see you I ” exclaimed the captain, 
in tones of genuine pity. 

‘‘ Why so, captain ? ” 

My orders are to have you shot this evening. I 
wish you had not come back.” 

With a great gulp in the throat, the poor lad heard 
his doom pronounced, and then said simply and re- 
signedly : 

Well, captain, you will have to do your duty.” 

The facts of the case were so truly pathetic, that 
the captain hurried with them to his colonel, and this 
gallant, warm-hearted officer immediately laid the 
case before General W. H. T. Walker. 

This general had been a hero in the Mexican war, 
and was one of the best officers in the Confederate 
army. Stem and ahmpt in manner, his heart was 
one of gold. 

Leaping upon his horse, he and the colonel gal- 
[ 322 ] 


“GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART” 


loped at full speed to the headquarters of the com- 
mander-in-chief, General Joseph E. Johnston. 

Earnestly, most earnestly. General Walker 
pleaded with his chief for mercy — for a reprieve. 

Not a muscle in the iron face of Johnston moved. 
Curtly, coldly, even harshly, he cut the conference 
short. 

You have your orders, sir ! ” 

And they shall be obeyed,” said General Walker 
in a voice shaken by his feelings. 

That evening a detail in gray shot to death as 
brave a soldier as ever donned the colors of the South- 
ern Confederacy. 

The impression which this narrative made upon 
Nellie may be imagined. 

She was filled with loathing and disgust and hot 
indignation. 

Shoot the poor, ignorant fellow just because 
he ran away from one of our idle camps to join 
one of our companies where fighting was going 
on? It sounds incredible. Is there such a law as 
that ? ” 

I reckon so,” Ralph answered. Anyhow they 
shot him. Military discipline, you see.” 

Poor, poor fellow ! And there were those who 
loved him, just as ” 

There, there, sweetheart — I’m sorry I told you.” 

After a little, she said: 

[333 1 


BETHANY 


It is too sad to dwell on. I will give you some 
music.” 

They drew to the piano, and she began to sing for 
him some of the old songs he loved. In one of the 
pauses he asked: 

Nellie, what is this ^ Lorena ’ song which is 
spreading everywhere ? I hear it all around, but 
IVe never caught but a few words besides the name 
^ Lorena.’ It seems to be a regular wail that is run- 
ning over the country. It is in all the camps, too.” 

She told him the story, as she had heard it: how 
a young Northern lad, the son of a New York black- 
smith, inspired by a noble ambition, had toiled and 
struggled for an education ; had finally graduated at 
a college in Columbus, Ohio, and had become a Uni- 
versalist preacher there; how he had fallen in love 
with beautiful Ella Bloxom, and had engaged him- 
self to marry her ; how the proud, wealthy married 
sister, with whom the orphan, Ella, lived, had de- 
termined that the poor blacksmith’s son should not 
enter her family, and had compelled her sister to 
break the engagement; how the young preacher had 
then wandered off, disconsolate, to Wisconsin; and 
how Ella had married a lawyer of the greatest prom- 
ise and prominence, who became Chief Justice of 
the Supreme Court of Ohio. 

Then Nellie’s fingers, with almost imperceptible 
touch and motion, drew out the chords of the accom- 
paniment, and she sang : 

[ 334 ] 


‘‘GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART” 


LOREN A 

The years creep slowly by, Lorena ; 

The snow is on the grass again ; 

The sun’s low down the sky, Lorena, 

The frost is where the flowers have been. 

But the heart throbs on as warmly now 
As when the summer days were nigh ; 

Oh ! the sun can never dip so low 
Adown affection’s cloudless sky. 

A hundred months have passed, Lorena, 
Since last I held that hand in mine, 

And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena, 
Though mine beat faster far than thine ; 

A hundred months — ’twas flowery May, 
When up that hilly slope we climbed 

To watch the dying of the day 

And hear the distant church bells chime. 

We loved each other then, Lorena, 

More than we ever cared to tell ; 

And what we might have been, Lorena, 
Had but our lovings prospered well. 

But then ’tis past, the years are gone. 

I’ll not call up their shadowy forms ; 

I’ll say to them — lost years sleep on — 
Sleep on, nor heed life’s pelting storms. 

The story of the past, Lorena, 

Alas I I care not to repeat ; 

The hopes that could not last, Lorena, 
They lived, but only lived to cheat. 

I would not cause e’en one regret 
To rankle in your bosom now ; 

For ‘ ‘ if we try^ we may forget,” 

Were words of thine long years ago. 

[ 325 ] 


BETHANY 


Yes, these were words of thine, Lorena, 

They burn within my memory yet ; 

They touched some tender chord, Lorena, 

That thrills and trembles with regret. 

’Twas not thy woman’s heart that spoke — 

Thy heart was always true to me ; 

A dutyj stern and pressing, broke 
The tie that linked my soul to thee. 

It matters little now, Lorena, 

The past is in the eternal past ; 

Our heads will soon lie low, Lorena, 

Life’s tide is ebbing out so fast. 

There is a future I Oh, thank God 1 
Of life, this is so small a part! 

’Tis dust to dust beneath the sod ; 

But there — up there, ’tis heart to heart. 

Ealph’s face as lie listened to this song, which 
Nellie sang with such distinct articulation that he 
caught and understood every word, was a picture of 
sympathetic attention. His only comment on it was : 

I know almost nothing about poetry. My idea 
has been that it was sentimental stuff spun out of 
moon-gazing heads ; but I believe every line of 
‘ Lorena ^ was dug out of somebody’s heart. What 
did you say the preacher’s name was ? ” 

H. D. L. Webster,” she answered. 

From the depths of his being, Ealph pitied the 
victims of that tragedy; and the plaintive melody 
had touched his own heart into a full recognition of 
his own bliss. He had not lost his Lorena. He spoke 
in a low voice, almost as if communing with himself : 

[ 326 1 • 


‘‘GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART” 


“ I know how that man feels. During all the 
months when I thought you were lost to me, my feel- 
ings were just what his were when he wrote those 
lines. He had lost the one human being who was 
the light of his life. I thought I had lost you. Oh, 
I^ellie, I sometimes wake up in the middle of the 
night and wonder if it is only a dream that you are 
mine. It seems too good to be true. My darling, 
you never will know how dearly, how sacredly, I 
love you.’’ 

She put up both her little hands to his face, pulled 
it down to hers, and laid her cheek against his, while 
her arms circled his neck. He held her thus a 
moment, and neither could speak. Then she kissed 
him, and said: 

“ How let me play you some of my favorites ; I 
was always playing them during that bad, bad year 
when we misunderstood.” 

With exquisite expression and the truest touch, 
she rendered, one after another, several of those 
compositions which the whole musical world knows 
and loves. Then her fingers glided into a measure he 
had never heard before. He listened entranced. The 
melody of dreams was there. The wooing tenderness 
of all the lovers who had ever sighed at the feet of 
beauty was there. The deathless yearning for the 
pure and true, the passionate longing for the love- 
ideal, rose almost to wildness in the swelling chords, 
and then dropped exhausted to moan in despair. 

[ 337 1 


BETHANY 


White-faced lovers stood beneath Italian balconies, 
in far-away moonlit cities, singing, singing the old, 
old song which enchants and enslaves the world. 

Ah, wizard of music! Why so cruel? WHiy in- 
spire to goals we shall not reach, to heights we cannot 
scale? Why bring to us dreams of unbroken love, 
and stainless lives, and cloudless skies ? Why wrench 
our heavy hearts with longings we cannot word, and 
a sadness deeper than tears ? 

As the last notes died away, and Nellie rose, Ealph 
saidj as he took her hand : 

That was wonderful ; what piece is it ? ” 

It is Schubert’s ^ Serenade.’ ” 

Who was Schubert, Nellie ? ” 

He was a German composer who died young, in 
utter poverty and neglect. It was only after his 
death that his genius was recognized.” 

“ There seems to be a good deal of that kind of 
history, and I feel sorry for those young unfortunate 
men who die of what is called the broken heart: but, 
at the same time, I believe it is weak to give up. We 
must fight it out ; and not give up.” 

Yet the music touched you deeply, Ealph.” 
Indeed it did, sweetheart, and always will. 
When the war is over, and I get back home, and we 
are married, my favorite of all favorites shall be the 
young German’s ^ Serenade.’ ” 

She walked with him to the gate, and when he 
[ 338 1 


‘‘GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART” 


had untied his horse, he slipped his arm through the 
reins and came hack to where she stood. 

Who can vary the story ? 

Since the morning stars sang together, and human 
hearts knew what love was, separations have been the 
same, and into them all has entered the bitterness 
of death. 

Farewell ! a word that hath been, and must be; 

A sound which makes us linger — yet — Farewell I 


[ 339 ] 


CHAPTEE XIII 


BACK IN CAMP 

The second battle of Manassas had been fought. 
The invasion of Maryland had followed, and that 
invasion had failed. The Union troops had resumed 
the offensive, and were now encamped on one side 
of the Eappahannock, while the army of the South 
guarded the other. 

With Ealph, on his return to the army, went one 
of the Eamsey boys of Lincoln County. Disabled 
at Malvern Hill, and poisoned by the limestone 
water, he had been on the brink of the grave, and 
for more than a year had been an invalid. Even 
now, he was a mere shadow and skeleton of a man, 
almost unfit for duty. 

Of military movements, since Malvern Hill, he 
knew nothing more than the newspapers published. 
The spicy details which seldom appeared in print 
had been lacking; and he was eager, now, to listen, 
as he sat with his comrades around the camp-fire. 

Many of the thrilling incidents of Jackson’s Valley 
Campaign were narrated, and many of that hero’s 
personal peculiarities were described. He was the 
[ 330 ] 


BACK IN CAMP 


awkwardest horseman in the army ; his uniform was 
faded and dingy; he was a grim, silent, curt, abrupt 
man, who marched his men as though they were 
horses, and fought them as though they were tigers. 
The army had boundless faith in him. As soon as 
it would be known on the eve of battle that Old 
J ack ” was up, confidence reigned. Stonewall ” 
Jackson had never been routed, and the men believed 
that he never would be. Then they jested affection- 
ately about his belief that black pepper made him 
weak in his left leg, and that one of his arms was 
heavier than the other. 

You often see him hold up one arm, even in 
battle, and the boys used to think he was praying. 
It’s a mistake. He prays enough, but when he holds 
his arm up in that planner his idea is to let the blood 
run down and out of the arm so as to reduce its 
weight. If old ^ Stonewall ’ were not known to be a 
genius, some folks might suspect that he was crack- 
brained.” 

It was Cullars who spoke. 

And how about Bob Toombs ? ” asked Kamsey. 

There was a general laugh, in which there was the 
curious mingling of amusement and admiration. 

He’s a hell of a fellow ! ” cried Cullars, with 
another laugh and a slap of his thigh. 

You know that the general is hail-fellow with 
most of these Virginia nabobs — served in Congress 
with ’em, you know. Well, sir, just before the second 
[331 ] 


BETHANY 


battle of Manassas, be was dined at one of these 
grand old brick mansions, where they have all that 
is good to eat and drink. As the general came riding 
back to camp, full as a goat, it was mighty near 
dark, and Toombs was in one of his moods when he 
don’t give a tinker’s damn for anything. As it hap- 
pened, he came across some of his own men out on 
picket duty. It made him mad, and he began to 
cuss and rear. 

^ Who sent you out here ? Longstreet, eh ? Damn 
Longstreet! Who’s Longstreet, that he should he 
orderin’ my men all over the world without my 
consent? My brigade shan’t be made to do the 
picket duty for the whole army. Right about 
face there, and get hack to camp! March, I tell 
you!”’ 

Here a burst of merriment interrupted the story, 
men slapping their legs and rolling about as if they 
would split their sides. One man would cry out. 
Bully for Toombs ! ” another would say, Well, 
ain’t he the damnedest man you ever saw ? ” 

Cullars continued : Well, sir, the boys hardly 
knew what to do when their general ordered them 
in, but they came along, some of ’em laughing, some 
lookin’ sorter scared. WTien they reached camp, 
what should General Toombs do but make a speech 
to his brigade denouncing the way in which they 
were being made to do the picket duty of the whole 
army — a regular stump speech, you see.” 

[ 333 ] 


BACK IN CAMP 


“Where was Longstreet all this time?” asked 
Ramsey. 

“ Oh, Longstreet showed up all right. Toombs 
hadn’t more’n got started good before here comes an 
order, and he’s carried off under arrest.” 

“ What did the court-martial do about it ? ” 

“ Court-martial the devil ! I wonder how you 
would start about managin’ Toombs with a court- 
martial ! ” exclaimed Cullars. 

“ Well, how did Longstreet get around it ? The 
conduct of General Toombs is one that they punish 
with death, as I understand.” 

“ Yes,” said Cullars ; “ you let some other fellow 
cut up in that style and they’ll shoot his life out in 
short order, hut they just can’t afford to murder a 
man like Bob Toombs.” 

“ What an elephant he must be on their hands ! ” 

“ Just so. But Toombs has got sense. He knows 
where the limit is about as well as the next man. As 
soon as he got sober he saw he was in a tight place, 
and the way he got out was the best part of the 
business.” 

“ Made a handsome public apology, did he ? ” 

“ No, sir-ee ! Never has apologized publicly to this 
day. What he did was to make a demand to lead 
his brigade in the charge that Longstreet had ordered. 
The second battle of Manassas was raging, and the 
Toombs brigade was ready to join, when Longstreet 
got Toombs’s note demanding to lead his men. He 
[ 333 ] 


BETHANY 


couldn’t hit ^ Old Pete’s ’ heart any better, if he was 
to try all his life. Lee’s wheel-horse couldn’t resist 
a thing like that. So Toombs got his release, and in 
a minute here he comes, ridin’ a splendid gray mare 
at full gallop, his figure straight in the saddle, his 
face afire ; and as he passed old Longstreet, he swung 
off his hat and waved it, while every Georgian in 
sight yelled, ^ Hurrah for Toombs ! ’ ” 

I wish I could have seen that,” said Ramsey. 
Well, sir, it was worth seeing ! Bullets were 
fiying thick as hail, but Toombs galloped far ahead 
of his staff, till he got to Drayton’s brigade, which 
cheered him wildly ; and then from regiment to regi- 
ment, as he dashed down the line, the men waved 
their hats and cheered him. A finer figure of a sol- 
dier under fire you never saw. And when he reached 
his own men, they yelled as the Stonewall brigade 
yells for Jackson. It was glorious! ” 

Yes,” cried Ralph, it was grand ! Old Toombs 
waved his hat, and shouted, ^ Charge, hoys ! Fol- 
low me ! ’ — and away they went into the fight, 
Toombs far in the lead. Nobody ever said courh- 
martial after that.” 

Let me tell you something else about General 
Toombs at the second battle of Manassas,” said Ralph. 

As Toombs and his staff were hurrying across 
the field, his eye happened to fall upon a Union sol- 
dier, lying on the ground, badly wounded. Well, 
sir. Bob Toombs recognized the man at a glance.” 

[ 334 ] 


f' 


BACK IN CAMP 

Who was it ? ’’ Ramsey asked eagerly. 

It was the son of the great Daniel Webster. 
Toombs had known the young man in Washington, 
you see. The general got down off his horse, spoke to 
Webster, examined him, put a knapsack under his 
head, gave him water out of his canteen, and then 
left the canteen for the wounded man’s use. Toombs 
saw that the wounds were very serious, and he spoke 
words of deepest sympathy to the poor fellow. The 
battle was raging, and General Toombs had to say 
good-by and ride on.” 

What became of Webster ? ” 

He died that night.” 

I remember one night before the war,” said 
Uncle Ralph, when Mr. Stephens and Bob Toombs 
were at our house, and both of them mentioned how 
much they thought of Daniel Webster. It was a 
strange thing that Toombs should so soon be giving 
help on the battle-field to the dying son of his old 
colleague and friend.” 

Ramsey remarked : Yes, it shows what an un- 
natural war this is.” 

They were silent a while, and then he continued: 

After the second battle of Manassas, you crossed 
over into Maryland ? ” 

Yes,” said Cullars, and as we marched we sang 
^ Maryland, My Maryland.’ The bands all played it 
as we forded the river. 

^^It was a sort of Sunday-school celebration at 
[ 335 ] 


BETHANY 


first. Friendly faces beamed upon us, and many nice 
things were said to us, and many kind things done 
for us. We had strict orders not to straggle or forage 
or do any damage. If Uncle Robert Lee saw where 
a rail had been knocked off the fence, he would order 
it put back. Later on our rations gave out; the 
damned commissary broke down, or something, and 
we suffered. In spite of Uncle Robert’s orders we 
just had to forage a little or starve. We lived some- 
times for days at a time on green com, apples, cher- 
ries and such truck as we could lay hands on. I have 
seen our boys drink water from puddles covered with 
green scum. Then came Sharpsburg, and the two 
days of hard fighting with McClellan. And then we 
were back on the defensive again.” 

“We are in for a long war it seems,” remarked 
one of the mess. 

“ It looks that way. We’ve had lots of bad luck,” 
said another. “ Our victories are not followed up. 
We don’t seem to get much out of them besides glory, 
and glory isn’t going to build the house.” 

“ Yes,” resumed Cullars, “ we balked after Bull 
Run ; we made a botch of it in pursuing McClellan ; 
and at Shiloh we lost the best chance we ever 
have had.” 

“ Why, how was that ? ” inquired Ramsey. “ The 
newspapers I read at home claimed that we won a 
big victory at Shiloh.” 

“Damn the newspapers! They never get any- 
[ 336 ] 


BACK IN CAMP 


thing right. They seem to be run by a lot of hysteri- 
cal old hags — regular hellians ! 

Why, the inside fact about Shiloh is that Albert 
Sidney Johnston gained a splendid victory and that 
Beauregard lost it. At two hours by sun, the Yankee 
army was the worst whipped crowd you ever saw. 
They had run off the field, had thrown away guns, 
knapsacks, cartridge-boxes — everything — and were 
huddled up along the banks of the Tennessee Eiver, 
dyin’ to get across, and expectin’ every minute to be 
gathered in by our men.” 

And what stopped it all ? ” 

Why, Johnston exposed himself and got mortally 
wounded. That threw the command to Beauregard, 
and Beauregard couldn’t take in the situation. He 
called a halt, and ruined everything. That night 
reinforcements poured in to the Yankees, and next 
morning we were the ones to get worsted.” 

The pained expression, the forerunner of that dis- 
couragement which was in store for the whole South, 
told better than words how the soldiers felt, as Cullars 
repeated his story. 

Was there no officer who could tell General 
Beauregard the truth of the matter ? ” exclaimed 
Bamsey. 

Why, yes, but he wasn’t heeded. When General 
Johnston was falling off his horse. General Harris of 
Tennessee caught him in his arms. Harris knew how 
badly whipped the Yankees were. Pretty soon he 
23 f 337 ] 


BETHANY 


saw our lines stop and begin to stack arms. The sun 
was two hours high, and Harris didn’t know what on 
earth it meant. He galloped up to one of the briga- 
diers and asked: 

^ General Cheatham, what does this mean ? ’ 

“ Military pride is as quick as gunpowder, and 
Cheatham answered, ^ I know my duty, sir. I am 
obeying orders.’ 

As fast as he could gallop, Harris flew to And 
Beauregard. Nearly a mile to the rear, he found 
Beauregard in an ambulance. 

^ General ! ’ exclaimed Harris, ‘ surely you have 
not ordered a halt. Surely something has gone wrong, 
and the facts of the situation have been misrepre- 
sented to you. Let me ’ 

^ Yes, it is my order,’ said Beauregard, inter- 
rupting. ^ The soldiers need rest. I will gather the 
fruits of the victory to-morrow.’ 

‘ But why not this evening, general ? Why not 
make a clean sweep on this side, and cross the river 
to-night? Buell is coming with 20,000 men. He 
will land his men on this side before morning, and 
to-morrow we will be outnumbered.’ 

“ ^ Oh, no,’ answered Beauregard. ‘ John Morgan 
is over there. He’ll keep Buell back.’ ” 

The idea of 3,000 cavalry keeping back 20,000 
infantry ! ” grunted Bamsey. 

Continuing Cullars said : Completely disheart- 
ened, Harris said, as he turned to ride back : ‘ Gen- 
[ 338 ] 


BACK IN CAMP 


eral Beauregard, you will regret the loss of these two 
hours the longest day you live ! ’ 

That night Buell did come across with his 
20,000 men, and his coming put new life into 
all the rest. Next morning they were too much 
for us.” 

Ralph remarked : There was a rumor in our 
camp that General Prentiss, whose whole division 
was captured by Beauregard, fooled his captors by 
telling them that Buell couldn’t reach the field in 
forty-eight hours, and that the Yankees had powerful 
batteries to protect them, whereas they had none at 
that point. They say that Prentiss admits that Beau- 
regard could have bagged the Union troops this side 
the river; and he boasts of the way in which he 
fooled our general.” 

Ramsey answered : Perhaps that rumor is true, 
hut I have heard that the Yankees did have the bat- 
teries, and that these batteries stopped our men that 
evening. I have also heard that Beauregard was not 
sick, not in the ambulance, hut was on horseback all 
day, directing part of the fight.” 

Nobody doubts Beauregard’s courage,” answered 
Ralph. “ That was proved at Manassas. At Shiloh 
he seized the colors and led a Louisiana regiment into 
the charge, I’m told. He would call out to the Cre- 
oles in French, and to the others in English. Oh, 
Beauregard is brave enough, and he’s a good officer, 
but he, perhaps, made a big mistake.” 

[ 339 ] 


BETHANY 


General Grant commanded tlie Yankees, didn’t 
he ? ” some one asked. 

Yes,” said Cullars, the same Grant who fought 
at Belmont, and took Fort Donelson. He’s a good 
fighter, I reckon, though they say he gets as drunk as 
Toombs; but at the time Johnston was shot. Grant 
was one of the wust whipped men that ever lived.” 

We’ve had lots of bad luck,” muttered some one 
else, dolefully. 

“ Luck the devil ! ” exclaimed Cullars. We’ve 
had lots of d d fool management.” 

Well,” said Balph, encouragingly, I reckon the 
Yankee generals make mistakes, too.” 

I hope so,” said Cullars. We are going to need 
all they can make. We’ve got nobody to fight our 
battles but ourselves, while the Yankees are draw- 
ing recruits from all over the world.” 

Time to turn in, boys. We’ll get homesick if 
we keep on talking like this.” And so they turned to 
their blankets. 

The Union army, now (December, 1862 ) en- 
camped about Warrenton, were pushed to Fredericks- 
burg, and orders came to the Confederates for forced 
marches. Through rain and slush, the Bethany 
Guards, cold and tired, made what speed they could. 
Near the middle of December they reached the out- 
skirts of the city, and camped in a pine thicket, beside 
one of the public roads. 

[ 340 ] 


BACK IN CAMP 


That very night, between midnight and day, the 
guns of the Union army, in the battery upon the 
heights beyond the Rappahannock, opened upon the 
sleeping city a terrific cannonade. Shrieking halls, 
bursting shells, fell in deadly hail upon the homes of 
the doomed city. 

Amid the frightful noises of the cannonade rose 
the screams of women and children as they rushed 
from their beds in their night clothes, and flew along 
the roads leading toward the Confederate lines. The 
glare of burning houses lit up the wintry skies, and 
lighted the way of the homeless wretches who flew 
shrieking along the roads. 

Confederate batteries took up the challenge, and 
then for hour after hour raged one of those artillery 
duels which seemed to rend earth and heaven. 

By morning there had crossed the river on pon- 
toons 90,000 Union troops to assault the Confeder- 
ates, and the most desperate fighting raged all along 
the line. 

At one place along the wide front of the battle, 
Malvern Hill was repeated, with the hot end of the 
mistake toward the Yankees. 

The Confederates lay behind a stone wall, and 
between the wall and the river was level ground, 
a ten-acre truck-field. Over this level exposed 
space the Union troops advanced against the rock 
wall. 

Such immense loss as ensued was not witnessed 
[ 341 ] 


BETHANY 


again until Grant hurled himself against the earth- 
works at Cold Harbor. 

All over the level field, from the rock fence to 
where the railroad depot now stands, dead bluecoats 
lay so thick that one could have walked the whole 
distance on dead bodies. 

On the right and on the left the Union troops were 
driven hack in helpless rout ; and that night and next 
day every cellar and hiding place in Fredericksburg 
held its quaking skulker. 

Yet General Lee had not put Anderson’s division 
into the fight at all. Fully 8,000 of our men did not 
fire a shot. Next morning the assault was not re- 
newed. Nor did Lee advance against the demoralized 
host huddling on this side of the river. A flag of 
truce came from General Burnside asking time to 
bury the dead. Granted. The day was thus spent. 

With night came a storm of rain and wind, driving 
from the Confederate position, and thus at once sights 
and sounds within the Union lines were lost to Lee. 
Sheltered by the pitchy darkness and the roar of the 
tempest, the Union masses made for the river in full, 
hurried retreat. Not a light was allowed: not a 
sound made which might draw fire from Confeder- 
ate cannon. Such citizens of the town as had re- 
mained throughout the battle rushed to the doors to 
learn what was the meaning of the strange dull buzz 
which filled the air, and were amazed to find the 
streets packed with the moving mass of men, horses 
[ 343 ] 


BACK IN CAMP 


and wagons. If such citizens held in their hands 
lamp, candle or torch, they instantly heard the stern 
whispered order, Put out that light ! ’’ In some 
cases officers sprang from the ranks, seized and put 
out the light — thrusting the citizen hack within doors. 

The sentries next to the Confederate lines were 
withdrawn by officers who passed from man to man, 
giving the order in a whisper. When the dawn 
brought light enough, the Confederate sentinels dis- 
covered that the Union picket line was held by dead 
men — corpses which had been propped up against 
stones or posts, with muskets in their frozen hands ! 

Old Fredericksburg, badly battered and ruthlessly 
sacked, was left to the victorious Confederates, who, 
when daylight fairly came, cursed their luck as they 
viewed the Union army, safely intrenched, upon the 
heights beyond the Kappahannock. 

The next thing in order is Winter quarters ’’ : 
into which we proceed to go. 

The fighting over with for the present, the soldiers 
of the two opposing armies established certain 
friendly relations with each other — orders to the 
contrary notwithstanding. 

Northern soldiers wanted tobacco; Southern sol- 
diers wanted coffee and sugar: result, brisk barter- 
ing across the Rappahannock. 

Where the stream was shallow enough to be forded 
on horseback, the excliange of commodities was a 
[ 343 ] 


BETHANY 


simple matter of meeting in the middle of the river. 
But lower down, where the Kappahannock is deep, 
ingenuity achieved a triumph which was almost in- 
credible. 

A Confederate soldier invented a miniature boat 
of pine bark, just large enough to hold a few plugs 
of tobacco. To this little boat he adjusted sails made 
of paper. Then launching the tiny craft, it was driven 
by the wind diagonally across the stream, a hundred 
yards below the point of launching. There the ex- 
pectant Northern soldiers would unload the cargo, 
and refill the boat with coffee. Again the sails would 
be set, and the little ship would make its return 
voyage. This boat, multiplied by the dozen, did a big 
and merry business on the Kappahannock during the 
whole winter the armies were in winter quarters. 

So companionable grew the relations between the 
individual soldiers of the two armies during this in- 
terval between combats that the cavalry men picket- 
ing the fords above Fredericksburg often met in mid- 
stream to have friendly talks, swap knives, exchange 
newspapers, and trade for coffee and tobacco. Some- 
tiihes the soldiers of one army would go across into 
the camp of the other to enjoy a sociable chat or a 
game of cards. In no instance was any advantage 
taken of this confidence by either side. 


[ 344 ] 


CHAPTER XIV 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 

On the night of May 1, 1863, General Lee and 
Stonewall Jackson were holding a council of war at 
Aldrich’s house, about two miles from Chancellors- 
ville. 

The conference began early after dark; it did not 
end till midnight. If some De Blowitz had been 
hidden under the table, and could now tell us every 
word which passed between the Confederate chief- 
tains at that fateful interview, the story would com- 
mand world-wide attention. It was Jackson’s last 
council. When it closed he had planned his last 
flank movement, his last triumph, and his own 
death. 

Chancellorsville was a house and a name at the 
crossing of dim dirt roads in that weird region known 
as the Wilderness.” For miles and miles, the 
scanty earth bore dense thickets of scrub oak. For 
miles and miles, it was a barren, desolate, God-for- 
saken territory. Houses were few, and far apart; 
roads wound in and out, here and there, then quit — 
leaving to the traveller the alternative of going back 
[ 345 ] 


BETHANY 

to try another one, or of cursing his luck and ceasing 
to travel. 

In the daytime the traveller, as a rule, met no 
one, saw no one, heard no human voices. He might 
see highland moccasins curled surlily amid the stunted 
trees or in the road; he might occasionally hear the 
hoot of a distant owl. If the day happened to be one 
of mists and drizzle, of leaden clouds, and no sun — 
in other words, a gray day ” — ^then, indeed, the 
solitary horseman ” might fancy he had wandered 
into a domain of ghosts. 

In the night, the stillness of the forlorn woods was 
broken by the melancholy notes of thousands of 
whippoorwills,” the shivering lament of number- 
less screech-owls, and the robust volume of the 
homed owFs Hoo ! Hoo ! Hoo-all ! ” 

Nature had intended, no doubt, to do the fair thing 
by this region, but she either had been interrupted at 
the critical moment, or she had started wrong, had 
got discouraged, and had abandoned the job. 

On her robe of marvellous richness and ever- 
changing loveliness, the Wilderness was a blur of un- 
redeemed and unvaried ugliness. 

It was in the midst of this God-forsaken country 
that Stonewall Jackson sat down with Lee to his last 
council of war. The situation of the Confederate 
army was not much more cheerful than the locality. 
There was a screech-owl flavor in both. Briefly, the 
facts were : 


[ 346 ] 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 

The Union army, more than 100,000, had been in 
winter quarters on the other side of the Rappahan- 
nock, north of Fredericksburg. The Confederate 
army, not half as strong, had been in winter quarters 
on this side of the river, south of Frederickshurg. 

The Confederate cavalry, under Stuart, Hampton, 
Fitz Lee, and P. M. B. Young, had been watching 
the fords. 

For reasons which the unprofessional reader can- 
not be expected to understand. General Joe Hooker 
had been allowed to launch the Union host across 
the river without the loss of a man. Rapidly passing 
through the Wilderness, this army, safe and sound, 
emerged into the open country where their immense 
superiority in numbers would tell to the best advan- 
tage. Hooker’s line was several miles in advance of 
Chancellorsville, and upon a ridge at that. 

Up to this point it seems clear to the unprofes- 
sional reader that the Confederates had been out- 
generaled. The necessity had suddenly come upon 
the 45,000 men of Lee to assail the 100,000 of 
Hooker in their lines, upon the high ground, or for 
the smaller army to retreat upon Richmond with the 
Union army in full pursuit. 

From either of these desperate alternatives, Lee 
was snatched by the colossal blunder of Hooker. In 
the twinkling of an eye, he lost his head — for the 
Confederates were coming on, right at him! — and 
scuttled hack into the Wilderness! Of all places 
[347] 


BETHANY 


which a level country could afford, the Wilderness 
was the best for the smaller army. So far as it was 
in his power to do it, Hooker had played into the 
hands of Lee. 

Nevertheless, the Union army, strongly intrenched 
in the Wilderness and expecting the 22,000 men 
under Sedgwick to cross at Fredericksburg and strike 
Lee upon his flank, occupied a most formidable posi- 
tion. If their combinations worked out, according 
to plans and expectations, Lee’s 45,000 Confederates 
would be enveloped by 120,000 Federals. 

As Hooker was drawing back from the open into 
the woods, Jackson had struck him and fought him 
till dark. 

But the Confederates had then come upon the 
elaborate defences which the Union army had thrown 
up in the Wilderness, and the assault had been re- 
pulsed all along the line. 

What now should be done ? 

That was the question which Lee and Jackson met 
to decide. Hour after hour passed, and still they had 
reached no conclusion. The very length of the con- 
ference reveals the doubtful, dangerous character of 
their situation. If the Confederates failed to break 
the Federal lines; if, while Lee’s 45,000 were assail- 
ing Hooker’s intrenched army of 100,000, there 
should come upon his flank the fresh 22,000 of Sedg- 
wick — it would be another case of Napoleon caught 
between the two armies. Waterloo would be re- 
[ 348 ] 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 


peated. And how, bj any reasonable calculation, 
could it seem possible for the smaller force to drive 
out the larger from its intrenched camp ? 

On the other hand, should a retreat be sounded, 
the moral and physical results might be overpower- 
ingly hurtful. Clamors would arise from every 
editor in the South; black-coated warriors would 
froth at the mouth; Jeff Davis would rock and reel 
in the storm; discouragement, like a simoon, would 
wilt the enthusiasm of the Southern people. 

Finally, it was agreed between the two Confeder- 
ate generals that the direct assault upon HookeFs 
lines was too risky. And the darker, sterner, more 
energetic man, Jackson — he of the broken, faded 
cap, and the dingy, shabby uniform — proposed a 
daring movement across Hooker’s front to his rear. 
Let Lee hold the attention of the Union army in 
front, let Early do his best to keep Sedgwick back, 
while he, Jackson, would, with his splendid force of 
21,000, swiftly skirt along Hooker’s front — keeping 
out of sight — and fall upon his flank. Then Hooker 
would be caught between two fires, and it would be 

Farewell, Hooker ! ” 

But suppose the Federal chief should detect the 
movement '? Suppose he should wait till J ackson had 
separated himself, good and clear, from Lee, what 
was to hinder Hooker from falling upon the little 
band of Lee, crushing it, and jamming it helplessly 
between himself and the on-coming Sedgwick? 

[ 349 ] 


BETHANY 


Then it would be Farewell, Lee! ” 

“We must take our chances. The situation can- 
not he made worse than it is. If Hooker sees my 
movement and falls upon you, I will see his move- 
ment and fall upon him. If he attacks you while I 
move, he must come out of his lines to do so, and 
when he does, his flank will he exposed to me. You 
may depend upon me to watch him as closely as he 
watches me. It is a life and death business any 
way we take it, and my plan promises the best 
results.’’ 

“ Let us try it then. Move at dawn. I will listen 
for your guns when you reach Hooker’s flank. It 
will be late to-morrow evening, in all probability. 
When your guns are heard, I will press them in 
front.” Stately, calm and courteous, Robert E. Lee, 
looking every inch the natural leader and commander 
of the best army on the globe, ended the conference, 
and shook hands with his greatest lieutenant — for 
the last time. 


The council of war over, Jackson returned to his 
lines, lay down upon the bare ground at the foot of a 
pine tree, and, without covering of any sort, passed 
into the last sleep he was to take upon the field. And 
when he rose before dawn, he was chilled to the 
bone, and had taken the cold which may have had 
much to do with his illness and death. 

[ 350 ] 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 


By sunrise, his entire force was well advanced upon 
its mission. 

The student of l^apoleon’s career will be struck 
with the similarity between the flank movement sug- 
gested by Jackson at Chancellorsville and the flank 
movement of ISTapoleon at Bautzen. Bliicher had 
there put himself into a perilous position; but, as 
long as the French attacked him in front, he was 
threatened with no worse than a common defeat — to 
which ^Napoleon had made him familiar. He might 
even hold his position, for Hapoleon’s troops were 
raw levies, mainly. But the French emperor wanted 
something decisive. He needed it. His fortunes 
had reached a crisis where nothing but a miracle 
could save him. Into his brain flashed one of those 
inspirations which change the destinies of nations. 

Go, Hey ! — ^you, the bravest of the brave — go along 
the flank of BliicheFs position; keep out of sight; 
do not stop to fight ; march, march, and get upon his 
rear! Then fight with all the. lion that is in you! 
Hearing your guns I, from the front, will advance, 
and, between you and me, Bliicher will be ground^ 
to powder, the Coalition dissolved and France 
saved ! ” 

Alas! that Hey was not left in front to keep up 
the fight, while the emperor himself led the turning 
movement ! For Hey, being assailed by a paltry rear- 
guard, stood to fight; and old Bliicher, hearing guns 
around on his flank, smelt brimstone, and, throwing 
[ 351 ] 


BETHANY 


down every other job, save that of everlastingly get- 
ting out of Napoleon^ s trap, fell back pell-mell before 
Ney had barred the road. 

Now, at Chancellor sville, Jackson’s task was to 
march away from Hooker’s front, skirt around for 
fifteen miles, escaping detection, and get full upon 
the undefended flank and rear before the Union 
general should suspect the blow that was aimed at 
him. 

In this turning movement Jackson was met by 
the same difficulty which foiled Ney. A small de- 
tachment opened fire upon him. But many Neys 
could have been made out of Stonewall Jackson. He 
was not to be foiled. He left a squad to fight a squad ; 
and he never halted. On, right on, he marched until 
the afternoon was waning, and he judged he had 
about reached the position he sought. Hooker, in 
fact, knew of the movement, but supposed Jackson to 
be in full retreat. 

With Fitz Lee, he rode to the top of a slight ele- 
vation from which he could view Hooker’s defences. 
He was not yet quite far enough. Pointing to the 
Plank road, he said to an aide : 

Tell my column to cross that road.” 

The column moved across the Orange Plank road, 
and continued to advance until it reached the Old 
Turnpike running from the Old Wilderness Tav- 
ern ” toward Chancellorsville. 

Here they halted. They were full upon Hooker’s 
[ 353 ] 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 


right flank. And Hooker did not know it. Hothing 
remained but to strike, swift and hard. 

Jackson had ridden since dawn, and was tired. 
He was sitting now upon a log, while the line of 
battle was being formed. It was very hot — no air 
stirring in those thick woods. The enemy was not 
more than two hundred yards off. So dense was the 
forest and so quiet the approach of the Confeder- 
ates that the Eederals suspected nothing. They were 
camped in an old fleld. They had stacked their musr 
kets, and were beginning to make coffee for supper. 

The Southern line of battle formed; word was 
about to be given to attack, when a Methodist 
preacher named Camp, a member of Company B, 
Eourth Georgia Regiment, asked that all kneel while 
he prayed. 

Stonewall Jackson bowed his head where he sat; 
the others kneeled, and the preacher prayed. Then 
the attack was ordered, and the Federal corps in 
Jackson’s front was swept off the face of the earth. 
They did not even have time to turn and use their 
cannon. 

The Bethany Guards were a part of the force 
which remained with Lee, in Hooker’s front. Every 
man in the army knew of Jackson’s movement. Hot 
one of them failed to comprehend its importance. In 
fact, the confldence which the Confederate soldiers 
had come to place in Stonewall Jackson amounted to 
24 [ 353 1 


BETHANY 

a superstition. They did not believe that he could 
be whipped. 

If Jackson was absent, they were anxious and 
uneasy; if Jackson was on the field, with his men in 
action, they had no doubts of success. Has J ackson 
come up ? 

Yes, Jackson’s up.” 

All right, then. We’ll whip ’em, sure’s hell ! ” 

Dialogues of that kind were as common as the 
saying, That’s either J ackson or a rabbit,” when 
the troops in the distance were heard to raise a shout. 

All day my Uncle Kalph and his comrades had 
done their share in the desultory fighting which Lee 
kept up on the front of the enemy. From time to 
time they would speak of Jackson, and venture 
guesses as to the progress he was making. After the 
noon hour passed, the anxiety to hear Jackson’s guns 
on the enemy’s right, west of Chancellorsville, be- 
came painful. Two o’clock came and went ; another 
hour dragged its weary length away; then another; 
and the shadows of evening began to fall. 

Good Lord ! ” exclaimed Cullars, where’s old 

Jack ? He must have got lost in them d d thickets. 

It’s nearly night, and it’s too late now to do any- 
thing.” 

I tell you, boys, things look squally,” said 
Ramsey. Here we are, a small handful ; if Hooker 
only knew it. We are hemmed in between Sedgwick, 
in the rear, and Hooker in our front.” 

[ 354 ] 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 


Early will take care of Sedgwick/’ exclaimed 
some one. 

“ How can Early’s 6,000 stop Sedgwick’s 
22,000 ? ” asked Ramsey. 

If old Stonewall don’t do somethin’, and do it 

d d quick, we’re in the hole. That’s my opinion,” 

said Cullars decidedly. 

Hush ! Listen ! ” cried my Uncle Ralph. 

Away off in the woods, to the west of Chancellors- 
ville, in the very rear of the Union army, a sudden 
thunder shook the earth and the sky! It was the 
roar of a cyclone; a maddening rush and volume of 
furious sound ; a crash, as of the falling pillars of a 
world ! 

By G — d ! ” yelled Cullars, at the top of his 
voice, that’s Jackson I ” 

“ It’s all right now ! ” shouted everybody. 

From one end of Lee’s line to the other, came yells 
of joy and triumph. Men tossed their hats, wild 
with excitement. The music of Jackson’s guns in- 
toxicated and inspired them. As the boom of his 
cannon deepened, and the roll of his musketry be- 
came a continuous roar, they knew, they "knew that 
they would win, and they yelled like maniacs in their 
exultation. 

All the world knows that while Stonewall Jack- 
son’s attack was being made upon Hooker’s right, he 
conceived the daring design of moving yet farther 

[ 355 ] 


BETHANY 


around and cutting off tlie line of Federal retreat; 
that in order to ascertain best what disposition to 
make, he rode a short distance ahead of his own line, 
and that a sudden volley, fired by his own men, 
wounded him mortally. 

Nor is there need of telling how the brilliant cav- 
alier, General J. E. B. Stuart, was placed in com- 
mand of Jackson’s men, and how Stuart reversed 
Jackson’s plan. Instead of stretching farther away 
from Lee, he steadily drew toward his chief, until 
their forces met. Singing in a voice that rang above 
the battle, Old Joe Hooker, won’t you come out of 
the Wilderness ? ” Stuart led the infantry to the 
charge, the watchword being, Remember J ack- 
son ! ” 

Superbly mounted, brilliantly uniformed, with 
silken sash and fioating plume, his drawn sabre in 
his gauntleted hand, romance itself never imagined 
a hero more the heau ideal of a leader in battle than 
Jeh Stuart. 

By sheer hard fighting, by headlong and persistent 
charges, line after line of Hooker’s breastworks was 
carried; and the Federals, disorganized and broken, 
were hurled upon Chancellorsville, the Confederates 
pursuing with the wildest yells. 

As the Confederate attack was being delivered. 
General Hooker stood on the piazza of the Chancel- 
lorsville house, leaning against one of the columns, 
watching the battle. 


[ 356 ] 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 


There were some ladies in the building, and he 
was urged to let them seek safety in the rear. 

^To, they must remain/’ said he. General Lee 
would not fire upon women and children. That was 
demonstrated at Fredericksburg. Let the ladies go 
up-stairs, and show themselves on the balcony. That 
would protect the house. 

They went up-stairs accordingly, and out upon the 
balcony, but General Lee’s eyes were busy elsewhere. 
Confederate cannoneers, knowing nothing of the pres- 
ence of women in the house, shelled it; and a ball 
struck the column against which General Hooker 
leaned, throwing it down, and disabling him. 

Awful as this whole battle had been, full of grue- 
some incidents, its tragedy now deepened tenfold. 
Shells set fire to the Chancellorsville house and to the 
woods. For miles and miles these woods were strewn 
with mangled men and horses. The leaping flames 
roared where the cannon and the musket had done 
their work ; and into a vast, fiery furnace the shriek- 
ing wounded were drawn — the Blue and the Gray 
alike devoured by its remorseless impartiality. 

Lee sat his horse not far from the burning house, 
doing what he could for the wounded. As he 
had ridden to the front, the rebel yell of victory had 
greeted him all along the line. Heither he nor his 
troops feared any fatal consequences to Stonewall 
Jackson from those wounds in the arm. Even as he 
sat his horse near the burning house, its glare falling 
[ 357 ] 


BETHANY 


upon his calm face, a note from J ackson was handed 
to him, and he sent in return a generous message. 

The wounded lieutenant, from his bed of suffer- 
ing, had sent to congratulate his chief upon his vic- 
tory, and the ever magnanimous chief had made the 
noble answer : 

Say to General Jackson that the victory is his, 
and that the congratulation is due to him.” 

All of us know how the campaign ended by Lee 
being unwilling to risk an attack upon Hooker, and 
Hooker being unwilling to risk being attacked. In 
our mental vision we can see Hooker softly crossing 
the Rappahannock, over pontoons covered with pine 
brush to deaden tell-tale sounds, at the very moment 
that Lee’s sharpshooters are skittishly creeping up to 
see what is going on inside Hooker’s breastworks. 
When the timid Confederates venture to look into 
Hooker’s lines, they discover that the Federals have 
been equally timid. They have gone. 

And so the Confederates raise the shout of victory, 
and fighting is at an end for the present. 

But Stonewall Jackson is dead. 

When that sudden volley was fired by his own 
troops, he seemed to be dazed. His mind was so ab- 
sorbed with his battle-plans that it took no thought 
of his own danger. The opposing lines were close 
together. Not more than two hundred yards lay be- 
[ 358 ] 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 


tween them. The Confederates had advanced nearly 
three miles. It was night, and the thicket was dense. 
A volley from the Confederates would he almost cer- 
tain to provoke a volley in reply. 

An officer reconnoitring between the two lines 
necessarily carried his life in his hands. 

In just such a critical position, Napoleon had lost 
one of his best generals in Italy In just such a posi- 
tion, Napoleon himself had been shot at by his own 
men. How did he escape ? By throwing himself flat 
upon the ground, until his troops could be notifled of 
their mistake. 

When we read — and we men of the South read it 
yet with aching hearts — of the manner in which 
Stonewall Jackson continued in his saddle; riding 
hither, riding thither, shot at by his enemies, shot at 
by his friends; galloping in one direction a while, 
and another direction a while; till his bridle-hand 
and left arm are shattered; till his horse goes wild 
with fright ; till the limb of a tree strikes him in the 
face, tears off his cap, and almost sweeps him from 
his seat; till at length staff officers take him out of 
the saddle and lay him, bleeding and well-nigh sense- 
less, on the ground. 

Ten thousand whippoorwills are mingling their 
weird cries with the groans and screams of the 
wounded, the roar of musketry and the boom of 
cannon. For a storm of grape and canister is 
sweeping the road; and as far as anyone can see, 
[ 359 ] 


BETHANY 

the ground is littered with mangled men and 
horses. 

Through the tangled thicket, amid the bursting 
shell — their fragments lighting the sky like falling 
stars — our greatest soldier drags himself toward his 
own lines, borne up in the arms of his sole remaining 
staff-officer and a member of the signal corps. 

Blood pours from his wounds — for the artery in 
the arm is cut — and the uniforms of his officers are 
covered with it. 

His own men, A. P. Hilhs corps, are pressing for- 
ward to the attack, and as they pass, some call out. 
Who is that ? ’’ as if suspecting the awful truth, for 
the cap is gone, and the moon falls upon the white, 
almost lifeless face of the stricken chief. One poor 
soldier, more suspicious than the rest, presses close 
upon the little party, which is trying to screen the 
wounded man between the two horses, and cries in 
piteous tones, My God ! That is General Jackson ! ’’ 
They evade him, and put him off. Litter and litter- 
bearers at last come; they toil forward amid the 
brushes and vines. Federal batteries are in full play 
upon the road over which A. P. Hill moves to the 
assault. The onward rush of the Confederates has 
carried them to the main line of Hooker’s defences, 
and he is now making desperate efforts to save himself 
from ruin. A storm of canister and round shot beats 
upon the woods. Eiderless horses plunge madly here 
and there; stricken soldiers fall on every side; so 
[ 360 ] 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 


close are the opposing lines that one of Jackson’s own 
staff-officers is home by his horse into the Federal 
lines — dead. The escort of the stricken chief is 
within the line of fire ; their horses, wild with terror, 
break away; one litter-bearer is shot, another runs. 
Others grasp the handles, and on they struggle amid 
these awful surroundings. A vine catches the foot 
of a litter-bearer ; he stumbles, and lets the litter 
drop. Jackson falls, his mangled shoulder striking 
the ground. A piteous groan breaks from the iron 
lips, and the fitful moonlight shows a ghastly face 
wrenched with a convulsion of pain. 

At last, at last, he is out of the fire, and within his 
own line, with Pender’s brigade — the brigade, prob- 
ably, which fired the fatal shots. 

Pender is wounded and nervous ; he thinks he had 
better fall back a little. He ventures to express that 
opinion. The dying warrior speaks quickly, impera- 
tively : You must hold your ground. General 

Pender — ^you must hold your ground, sir ! ” That 
was his last order on the field. 

As he lay on his couch next day, Jackson could 
hear all the sounds of the great battle. He followed 
its every movement with a soldier’s interest. He was 
proud and pleased when told how his men were fight- 
ing, with the watchword, Remember J ackson ! ” 

“ Had I not been wounded, or had another hour 
of daylight, I would have cut them off from the river, 
[ 361 ] 


BETHANY 

and they would have had to surrender or cut their 
way out.” 

Then came pneumonia, and then delirium: 

Tell A. P. Hill to prepare for action. Pass the 
infantry to the front ! ” 

Then came languor and exhaustion, and a change 
in the spirit of his dream : 

Let us cross over the river and rest under the 
shade of the trees.” 

The sunny days of May, 1863, have passed, and it 
is now the 8th of J une. 

At Culpeper Court-House there is a grand review 
of Stuart’s cavalry. General Lee is there, splendidly 
mounted, splendidly dressed, a magnificent soldier, 
a matchless man. Above him, fiapping from the 
top of a lofty pole, is a large Confederate flag. 

Thousands of spectators are present — soldiers, cit- 
izens, male and female. No man ever loved the pag- 
eantry of war as Stuart loved it; and this was veri- 
tably his show day.” 

Eight thousand of his cavalry swept by General 
Lee, led by Stuart himself, at a gallop ; and then, in 
sham battle, they charged upon the Horse Artil- 
lery.” The thunder of war sounded over the plain 
and rolled among the surrounding hills. It was a 
glorious day for Stuart — more gloriously joyous and 
brilliant than any day he would see again. 

The festive day must ever be followed by the 
[ 363 ] 


CHANCELLORSVILLE 


sound of revelry by night/’ and the grand review 
near Culpeper would have been incomplete without 
the grand ball which followed. 

Ah, the lights and the flowers and the music ! Ah, 
the brave men and fair women who danced the happy 
hours away! 

I wonder how many of those whose feet tripped 
the gay measure of the dance that night in ’63 now 
walk the evening path toward the setting sun! Is 
there anywhere in old Virginia a pair of faded slip- 
pers, treasured up, in some secret drawer, as a re- 
minder of the old times, and the Stuart hall? Is 
there no circlet of ribbon and little heap of crumbled 
stems and leaves and blossoms — all that remains of 
some gorgeous bouquet which beauty wore that night, 
and kept forever after in memory of the lover, who 
there danced his last quadrille ? 

Many and many a cavalier who mounted and rode 
away from Culpeper when next the gray dawn was 
breaking left a riderless horse on the slopes of Gettys- 
burg. For it was after the grand review of June 8th 
and the grand ball of the night that the Southern 
host marched to the North — marched in less than 
thirty days from confidence and success to disaster 
and doubt — marched down from the sublime exalta- 
tion of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville to the 
treacherous bogs and quicksands of Gettysburg ; 
marched from buoyant, radiant, soul-lifting sunlight 
into everlasting, rayless, heart-breaking night. 

[ 363 ] 


CHAPTEK XV 


IT IS FINISHED 

It was in December, 1863, and the chill winds 
were singing dirges throughout the land. 

Xot more wintry was the wind than the feelings of 
the Southern people. Buoyancy was gone ; confident 
aggressiveness was gone; glorious exhilaration was 
a thing of the past. 

Nothing had shown this change of feeling more 
distinctly than the change in the popular songs. 

The screech-owl note of desolation was in them all. 

Lorena ” was not alone. Its melancholy refrain 
was repeated over and over again. Just before the 
battle, mother,” When this cruel war is over,” 

Juanita,” “ Kitty Wells ” — each of these songs had 
multitudinous warblers; and, upon my word, the 
woods were just full of such screech-owl music. It 
gave one the shivers, and was overwhelming proof of 
the disappointment, despondency, and grief that per- 
vaded the Southern land. 

One day at Bethany while I waited for the mail 
a locomotive puffed by, pulling a train of freight cars 
which were filled with Yankee prisoners. 

[364] 


IT IS FINISHED 


They passed through the town with defiant laugh- 
ter, with ringing cheers, and the resounding song of 
“ John Brown’s body lies mouldering in the grave, 
but his soul is marching on.” It was like the blast 
of a trumpet. The difference in feeling and expres- 
sion between these prisoners and their captors was 
one of the most striking signs of the times. When 
the people upon one side were moping around, wail- 
ing Lorena,” and those on the other whooped 

J ohn Brown,” it took not much of a prophet to 
foretell results. 

The book-writers may say what they please, but I 
know that after Gettysburg the mass of the Southern 
people lost confidence. The book-writers go to old 
newspaper files, to public speeches, and to public doc- 
uments, and they find proofs that the South was con- 
fident of victory up to the very moment of Lee’s sur- 
render. Of course, editors, orators, and politicians 
were not likely to put upon record a public document 
of despair. Even Ben Hill proclaimed that the sun 
was not more certain to continue to rise than the 
South to win its independence ; and some of our news- 
papers kept Hill’s prophecy standing in large letters 
on their first page. 

But a boy who grew up amid the common people 
at that fearful time, as I did, cannot be made to for- 
get the facts. Newspapers and books count for noth- 
ing against vivid recollections. 

The popular enthusiasm which had supplied vol- 
[ 365 ] 


BETHANY 


unteers had died down. The country was drained 
of its resources. Crippled soldiers limped along 
in all the roads. Widows, draped in weeds, were 
the pitiful sights at every little gathering. Fault- 
finding was the fashion. Jeff Davis was blamed, 
the generals were blamed, the men who brought on 
the war were blamed. One day I remember ask- 
ing: 

Mother, who got us into all this trouble ? ” 

And she answered sadly, not bitterly, Bob 
Toombs had more to do with it than anybody else.” 

The Conscript Laws caused angry discontent: the 
law which held for the remainder of the war the 
soldiers who had enlisted for a year, was another 
grievance. Disaffection spread. Some said the 
Conscript Laws were unconstitutional. Among those 
who made public speeches to that effect was Linton 
Stephens, brother of our Vice-President. Some said 
Jeff Davis was incompetent. Some said Lee did not 
know how to make use of his victories after he had 
gained them. Some said that if Stonewall had lived 
the Union army would have been destroyed or cap- 
tured at Chancellorsville. Some said Lee had no 
business leading his men so far from home into Penn- 
sylvania, and that he was wrong in compelling them 
to assail such a position as the Yankees held at 
Gettysburg. 

Meanwhile, the enrolling officers were having a 
time of it. It was their business to gather in the 
[ 366 ] 


IT IS FINISHED 


willing or unwilling citizen who was subject to mili- 
tary duty. This was not always pleasant duty. But 
it was fun compared to dealing with the refractory — 
the men who swore and be damned that they would 
not be enrolled, and who hid out in the swamps. 

And even this gruesome part of the business had 
a cheerful aspect compared to the job of corralling 
the actual deserters — ^the desperate men who had quit 
the army, determined to die rather than go back. 
Many a jungle of the South held its deserters. Many 
a little fight, which the editors never got hold of, took 
place in the depths of the woods, between Southern 
deserters and Southern enrolling officers. One of the 
bravest men ever buried in our cemetery at Bethany 
was a Confederate soldier, killed in an obscure con- 
flict of that kind. I was at the funeral; and busy 
tongues were relating the details of the tragedy, so 
that my imagination reproduced the scene : 

A lone house, in a dismal little clearing, on the 
skirts of Briar Creek Swamp; a band of deserters 
within the house; a squad of enrolling officers sur- 
rounding the field at dark, and closing in; a sum- 
mons to the deserters to come out and surrender ; the 
answer, a volley from doors and windows which 
lights up the night with a murderous flash; the cry 
of dying men; the defiant yell of the deserters as 
they rush out of the house and escape to the swamp. 


The year 1863 was the year of woe to us on the 
[ 367 ] 


BETHANY 


old homestead. Grandfather had another stroke of 
paralysis ; and while he lived, he was helpless. 
His speech was gone; his mind was gone. Poor 
old man, his last thought had been for his son — 
Ralph. 

In going away the last time, the young soldier had 
left in his room a cap and a jacket — parts of his mili- 
tary outfit. On the cap was a silken favor, made so 
as to be worn on the cap, something like a plume. 
Whether Nellie had made this for him to wear, I 
do not know; but he would often use the cap when 
dressed to go from the place. Nobody but a bold, 
handsome man of well-recognized gallantry would 
have ventured to don a conspicuous ornament like 
this, but he did it, and he looked singularly well 
under it. 

This cap, surmounted by the silken scarf, he had 
left at home, together with the jacket which he was 
wearing when he was wounded. 

After he had gone from us that last time, poor old 
grandfather used to totter into Ralph’s room, and 
stand looking a long time at those reminders of his 
favorite boy. To see that hard, furrowed face soften, 
to see the shaking hands stroke the pierced jacket 
and the c^, to see the tears that would flow from the 
dim eyes — it was pitiful. After a while nothing 
would do him but that mother must let the jacket 
and cap hang on the wall by his bed, so that he 
could always see them. 


[ 368 ] 


IT IS FINISHED 


I think that the last look of intelligence that ever 
came into his eyes rested upon these sacred relics of 
his soldier-son. 

In the summer, Uncle Ealph came home sick. We 
were not uneasy about him at the time, for his com- 
plaint, while debilitating, was common enough, and 
its name excited no terrors then. With rest, proper 
treatment, good food, and pure water, he would 
soon be well again. So he believed : so we be- 
lieved. 

We made him as comfortable as we could in one 
of the company ” rooms, where it was more con- 
venient and more cheerful. From this room he had 
a view of the Big Eoad, and of the greater part of 
the farm. He was shocked to find his father in so 
shattered a condition, and he could not get accus- 
tomed to the fact that he would never know him 
again. To see him make the trial afresh every morn- 
ing, to see him take the palsied hand, and ask: 
^Tather, you know me, don’t you?” and to see him 
eagerly look into the dim, vacant eyes for recogni- 
tion which was never more to come there, would 
have moved you to profound sympathy. 

Yes, ours was a gloomy home in 1863. ^There was 
nothing we could do for grandfather but nurse his 
body; for Uncle Ealph we tried to nurse both mind 
and body. We encouraged cheerful visitors to come ; 
we brought him all the latest newspapers we could 
25 [ 369 ] 


BETHANY 


get; we did our best to keep him full of hope, and 
actively interested in the farm affairs, and the prog- 
ress of the war. 

During his long illness, there was nothing which 
came so near to bringing him hack to his old self as 
a letter from some friend in the army. The moment 
his mind became fixed upon that subject, he forgot 
for the time how sick he was. 

One day he got a letter from Pres Morris, a dear 
friend, who was one of Longstreet’s couriers. Uncle 
Ealph read the letter first himself, and that night 
we had him read it to us. 

In this letter Pres was giving to Ealph an account 
of the invasion of Pennsylvania and the battle of 
Gettysburg. He said that the people of Pennsyl- 
vania had shown great hostility to the Confed- 
erates. Discipline had been strict, and no damage 
to private property had been allowed. The writer 
related a little incident which caused us to laugh. 
The Confederates were passing a house in the coun- 
try, where an old farmer was sitting on his piazza, 
gazing at the troops as they went by. A number of 
the thirsty men had crowded into the yard to draw 
water at the well. The highway being too narrow for 
the marching column, some of the files were over on 
the inside of the wheat-field, trampling the grain as 
they went along to the width of perhaps ten feet on 
each side of the road. 

The old farmer was aghast. Without moving from 
[ 370 ] 


IT IS FINISHED 


his chair, he sang out in a voice of wondering self- 
commiseration : 

I have heard of war, and I have read of war, 
but this devastation exceeds my wildest dream ! 

The letter then spoke of how the great battle of 
Gettysburg had come about, almost accidentally. 

The report in the army was that Stuart had not 
kept Lee posted. The cavalry was off on some raid 
or other, instead of being close up to the flank of 
the Confederate army. Thus, Lee could not know 
the facts that he should have known. 

It was understood in Longstreet’s corps that the 
Confederates under Heath had come upon a detach- 
ment of the enemy, and had driven them to Get- 
tysburg, and that Ewell had driven them out of 
Gettysburg. At this time the Yankees were broken, 
and were fleeing in disorder, and were rushing in 
wild confusion up Cemetery Hill. 

This was four o’clock in the afternoon, and nearly 
every private soldier in the Confederate army had 
asked to know why the pursuit was not kept up until 
Cemetery Kidge was in our possession. One and all, 
the Confederates blamed the loss of the battle to the 
original failure of their officers to press forward on 
that first evening. 

On the second day. General Lee was up, but was 
not familiar either with the ground or with the 
numbers and positions of the enemy. Stuart was 
sadly needed, and had been sent for, but was not 

[ 371 ] 


BETHANY 


yet on the field. Lee rode from place to place, ex- 
amining the ground to decide his point of attack; 
and so late as ten o’clock he was still reconnoitering 
and consulting. 

Then Longstreet’s great charge was made, which 
failed for want of timely support. 

The courier described how, on the third day. Long- 
street and his staff were sitting under the trees, shel- 
tered from the enemy’s fire, awaiting Lee’s orders, 
and ready to move. 

He said that the two generals, Lee and Longstreet, 
had had a conference, when they met on horseback 
earlier that morning, and that Longstreet had 
strongly opposed the order which Lee was about to 
issue for Pickett’s charge. He stated positively that 
Longstreet’s whole staff was discussing the matter 
there and then, and that he, Morris, heard the staff 
repeat what Longstreet had said to Lee. 

The courier declared that it was ten o’clock before 
Longstreet got his orders to move on that third day, 
and that he opened fire at once. He declared that 
Longstreet in person directed some of his artillery. 
The courier described the splendid dash of Pickett’s 
men. Nothing could have been finer than that 
charge. But he also spoke of its failure, and of the 
manner in which our boys came skedaddling back. 
I remember particularly that Morris spoke of a rail 
fence which had been there in the morning, and which 
he himself had climbed over. In the stampede of 
[ 373 ] 


IT IS FINISHED 


Pickett^s men this fence disappeared as if a hurricane 
had struck it; and he declared that he saw Pickett 
himself scurrying to the rear, whipping his horse with 
his hat. 

My gracious ! ’’ exclaimed my mother. I didn’t 
know our boys would run like that ! ” 

Ralph smiled a little, and explained : Why, 
Martha, when a charge against the breastworks 
fails, what else is there to do but to run? The 
boys can’t stand there like fools to be shot down. 
They must retreat out of the range of the guns. And 
when you have got to run, the faster you run the 
better.” 

But to think of the brave Pickett whipping his 
horse with his hat to make him go faster.” 

Well, suppose he did,” said Uncle Ralph. It 
proves nothing more than that Pickett wanted the 
horse to do his best. Why, the bravest men, if they’ve 
got any sense, sometimes run. If the odds are dead 
against you, why throw away your life ? ” 

“ You wouldn’t run, would you. Uncle Ralph ? ” I 
asked. I was sure that he would not. My wildest 
fancy could not picture Uncle Ralph doing any ske- 
daddling. 

I’ve run like a turkey several times. So" has every 
other soldier who has seen much fighting. Why, 
didn’t I see General Jeb Stuart running from a squad 
of Yankees, who had come upon him when he was 
alone at a place where he had stopped to take a nap ? 

[ 373 ] 


BETHANY 


It was distressing to the last degree to watch his 
disappointment, as the days flew by, leaving him no 
improvement. 

Then, with dismay, we became conscious of his 
decline. He could not leave the yard; his strength 
would fail him at the gate. 

There he would stand, looking wistfully southward 
— to the piney-woods — till his limbs would begin to 
tremble, and then he would feebly totter back to the 
house. 

Then he became too weak to reach the gate — ^would 
stop on the piazza, and sit hour by hour, looking so 
cast-down that my heart bled for him. Then with 
that gaze of unutterable longing and despair — to the 
south — he would make his way back to his room. 

Then the day came when he could not leave his 
room. 

It was long ago, a very long time ago, and yet I 
see him now, as I have seen him a thousand times 
since, painfully dragging one foot after the other 
around his bed, holding on to the tall posts of the 
old-time tester-bed. To this brief circuit had shrunk 
all his strength — this painful creeping around the 
tester-bed ! 

Who was it that told him that Nellie Koherts had 
been stricken with typhoid fever ? Not I — not 
mother; it must have been some thoughtless visitor 
whom we had neglected to caution. 

At any rate, he learned it; and every faculty he 
[ 376 ] 


IT IS FINISHED 


possessed seemed centred upon that one subject. 
Every day a messenger had to he sent to inquire how 
she was. Every day the messenger was instructed 
by us what to say to him : She is getting on well.’’ 
How could we tell him that the disease had seized her 
malignantly, inexorably, from the first ? How could 
we ,say to him that her fever was rising, her strength 
failing, and that the worst was feared ? 

To have told him so would have been more bar- 
barous than to have stabbed him. So the messenger 
continued to say, She is doing well.” 

But he was restless, uneasy; consumed by impa- 
tient longing, by heart-eating anxiety and fear. 

Oh, those dreadful, dreadful days! 

Would they never end ? Would smiles and hopes 
never come back again to our old homestead ? 

Of course my mother visited the sick lady from 
time to time, for we felt that she was almost one of 
us. After the third week of her illness had passed, 
my uncle wanted me to go. Nothing else would sat- 
isfy him. So I went, not certain that I would be 
permitted to enter the sick room. But when I was 
taken into the parlor, and the grief-stricken parents 
had talked with me a while, the colored house-girl 
who waited in Nellie’s room came down and told 
Mrs. Boberts that the young mistress wished to 
see me. 

I went up the stairs with my heart in my mouth — 
[ 377 ] 


BETHANY 


so excited that when the girl opened the room-door 
for me I stood there in a kind of daze. 

A white hand moved on the bed, and beckoned : a 
weak voice called me, and I went toward the sick 
lady, trembling. She made the negro girl leave the 
room, and we two were left alone. 

When I saw the wasted face, framed in blue-black 
hair which curled over the pillow, and saw how very 
sick she was ; how weak, how far from what she used 
to be — I could not help myself — I turned away my 
head and began to cry. She said nothing for a 
while, but when I had gained a little self-control, 
she bade me very gently to come to her bedside. 

As if she had been my sister, she stroked my hair 
softly, and began to ask me about Uncle Ealph. 

Was he very ill? Was he able to get out of the 
house ? Did he have any relish for food ? Was he 
much changed? Did he seem cheerful? Was he 
much worried on her account ? 

As much as I dared, I told her, and she listened 
intently — ^her great luminous eyes fixed on mine. 

“ Little man, look in the writing-desk in the 
drawer to the right, and bring me the album-book 
which I showed you once.” 

I fumbled about a good deal, I fear, but found the 
book and brought it to the bed. 

It was the red-bound book in which was the pretty 
poetry which she had let me read, that day in the 
parlor. 


[ 378 ] 


IT IS FINISHED 


Look/’ she said to me. 

She held the hook in her thin hands, and it opened 
of itself at the place where a flower had been pressed. 
The paper of the leaves showed the stain where the 
fresh hud had moistened them ; and a faint odor ex- 
haled from the sere, dry flower, which lay flattened 
in the midst of the hook. 

Do you know it, little man ? ” she asked me. 

I did not recognize the flower, and said so. 

Don’t y6u remember the Sunday when you gave 
me that rose at the Baptist Church ? ” 

Oh, then I remembered ! And a rush of recollec- 
tions poured over me. The sunny day in the Big 
Eoad, the Bethany Guards, the brilliant banner. 
Uncle Ealph going off to the war, and the Cherokee 
rose which he bade me carry to Nellie! 

Yes, I remembered then! And when I looked 
down at the Belle of the Piney-woods, seeing what 
she had come to be, and thought of Uncle Ealph 
tottering around his bed, I was almost beside myself 
with grief. 

Don’t cry, little man. When you go home, tell 
Ealph you saw the flower he sent me the day he 
went otf to the war. Tell him I have pressed my 
lips to it a thousand times while he was away. Tell 
him to make haste and get well. And tell him not 
to worry about me. It will all come right” 

Then she drew me close to her, and said, Kiss 
me, little man ! 


[ 379 ] 


BETHANY 

Now, good-by ! Tell Ealph to make baste and 
get well/’ 

How did I ever manage it — the telling to my 
uncle of all that was sweet to him in this sad inter- 
view without revealing what was bitter ? Somehow, 
I must have done it, for he wore the brightest, se- 
renest look afterward which he had worn in many a 
day. He did not fret and worry himself so much. 
One could see in him a manly patience, and the 
fortitude of resignation. 

And many a time, when he and I were alone, he 
would have me relate again everything concerning 
the flower and the book. 

She could not have done anything which would 
have gladdened his heart more, for in a maiden’s 
modest way she had proved that she had loved him 
all along — ^had never loved anyone but him. 

He had needed consolation — ^needed it sorely — 
and it does me good, even to this day, to remember 
that I was able to understand how to tell him about 
the faded flower his sweetheart had kept. 

Early one morning, much before our daily mes- 
senger had been in the habit of starting upon his 
journey to the Koberts place, there came a Hello ! ” 
at our front gate. 

Mother heard, and went out. 

Alas ! Uncle Ealph heard it, too. 

By a mighty effort he reached the door of his 
room. 

[ 380 ] 


IT IS FINISHED 


A black boy at the fence was telling mother some- 
thing in a low voice, and she also was talking low. 

Uncle Ralph was holding his door slightly ajar, 
clinging on to it for support, his face — the pallid, 
wasted face — drawn into a frightened tension I had 
never seen on any face before. 

As my mother passed into the house, he asked. 

What is it, Martha ? ’’ 

She put him off with some evasion — I forget what 
— and went about her household affairs, weeping 
as she did so. 

Uncle Ralph shut the door, and tottered back to 
his chair. 

Nellie’s dead.” 

He said it as if talking to himself. He said it in 
a tone which betrayed no doubt, no bitterness, no re- 
bellion. A boundless despair was in his eyes and 
face and voice. It was the end of the world. There 
was nothing more to do, or hope, or think, or feel. 
It was the end of all, of all. 

Nellie’s dead.” 

He certainly had not overheard what was said by 
the negro boy; he had learned nothing from my 
mother; but he knew, he knew. No evasions, no 
denials could lift him any more. 

It was the end of the world. 

In a little while he began to take off his clothes. 
He wanted to get into the bed. When he unfastened 
his shirt, he drew out the gold sleeve-buttons — fash- 
[ 381 ] 


BETHANY 


ioned to resemble sea-sbells — and, taking me into bis 
arms, he hugged me with all his old-time tenderness, 
and put the buttons in my hand. 

I give you these to remember me by,” he said. 

We helped him into the bed, and he never rose 
out of it again. Day after day he weakened. Of 
evenings, Wilson and I would go out into the pas- 
ture, where there was fat lightwood to be easily split 
from off the pine stumps, and we would cut enough 
to keep up a blaze in Uncle Kalph’s room all through 
the night. 

He was so low now that we sat up with him reg- 
ularly. 

Slowly he sank, sank, sank, saying little to any- 
one. He barely lived. 

One night late, he had been sleeping and had 
waked up, looking bright and happy. 

Sister,” he called, faintly, to my mother. 

She went and bent over him. 

Sister, I had a beautiful dream. I dreamed that 
I was in a strange place, with strange faces all around 
me, and strange voices; but when I looked up there 
was Nellie, standing on a bank of white clouds, look- 
ing at me, smiling at me, holding out her hands to 
me, motioning to me! Oh, sister, how lovely she 
was ! When I tried to go to her, I woke up. But, 
sister, I will find her again ! Among all the angels 
in the heavens, I will know her. They cannot hide 
her from me ; I will find her again I ” 

[ 382 ] 


IT IS FINISHED 


My mother soothed him, and he soon dropped off 
to sleep. 

Next morning he did not wake. 

He was dead. 


( 1 ) 


THE END 




[ 383 ] 



I 


I 


♦ 



t 


\ 


n 


I 


*• 


I- 

* 

I 




« 


* 


I 


. \ 




H 

i ' 


* 


» 








( t 




i 



~ t 

t 

• I J • 















k 

i 


library of congress 

000E5ti‘^4t.01 



O 


